


What's Up, Buttercup?

by blushing_phan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Flower Shop Owner Phil, M/M, Possible Musician Dan, Possible violence, mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7240603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blushing_phan/pseuds/blushing_phan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan Howell is a 22-year-old fresh out of university...well fresh out of quitting university, anyways. His flatmate has recently moved out, leaving him on the verge of drowning in bills as he struggles daily to keep on top. Desperate for a job while he attempts to sort his life out, Dan stumbles upon a flower shop called "What's Up, Buttercup?", and everything begins to change when he meets the owner of the shop, Phil Lester, who has bandages on his hands and bluebells in his eyes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dan's First Day

_“Oh, why? Why did I think this was a good idea? I don’t know shit about flowers,”_ Dan thought to himself, as he tugged his shirt collar away from his neck, which was damp with sweat, for the umpteenth time.

Actually, he knew exactly why, and it wasn’t at all complicated. The truth of the matter was, Dan needed a job if he wanted to continue having a place to live. Now that his flatmate, Elliot, had moved in with his girlfriend, the bills were getting harder and harder to stay on top of, but Dan knew he couldn’t just let himself drown in debt. Moreover, he would _never, ever_ move back home. He would sleep beneath a bench in a train station before he put himself through the utter shitstorm of living with his parents ever again. 

No, Dan was going to continue living in his flat all by himself and pay the bills by working his ass off in this flower shop because that’s what he had to do. 

Dan’s determination, however, did little to nothing in assuaging his nerves. He wasn’t sure why; there was nothing even remotely intimidating about the tiny little store (it was more of a boutique than anything). It’s name, “What’s Up, Buttercup?” had made him giggle when he had stumbled across it in his desperate search for a place to work. The “Help Wanted” sign illuminated in the window had caused his heart to soar into his throat, and without thinking about it, he’d blundered through the door. 

There was a cute young woman sitting behind the counter wearing a buttery yellow smock with a tiny matching bow in her hair. Dan’s clumsy entrance had caused a bell to tinkle, and the woman looked up from the paperwork she had previously been poring over, a warm smile brightening her friendly features. 

“What's Up, Buttercup?” she said, as Dan meekly approached, subconsciously twisting his fingers together. 

“H-hi,” he managed to sputter out, realizing he hadn’t taken the time to consider what he was going to say. “I...I saw your help wanted sign in the window, and I’d like to apply for the job. I- my name is Dan. Dan Howell.” 

Dan watched as the woman gave him a onceover, suddenly feeling incredibly self conscious. After a moment (or what felt like several agonizing minutes of scrutiny), she spoke. 

“Louise Pentland. I’m the assistant manager,” and Dan shook the hand she offered out, hoping his palm wasn’t grossly sweaty. “Do you have any prior experience?” 

Dan paused to collect his thoughts. “I...I have worked retail before. Which...isn’t exactly the same…” he added, as he looked around; the shop was, for lack of better words, very cute. 

The shelves lining the walls were all painted different shades of yellow, ranging from the same pastel tone as Louise’s smock to a deep golden color, and all of them were full of flower pots with a different kind of flower blooming delicately in them. Closer to the counter were various arrangements in pretty vases, each with a cheesy little title like ‘Roses Are Red’ or ‘Whoopsie Daisy!’ written on a little name card nestled in the flowers on more shelves. These shelves were all soft shades of green that complimented the baby blue walls very well. Across the back wall, in bright, looping script was the name of the store. It was obvious to Dan that whoever owned this shop had put a lot of effort into making it nice. He could almost feel the dedication in the air. 

“Retail, huh?” Louise inquired, “So you can handle customers? Because you might be required to assist customers, and some of them can be, well...a little much.” 

“Oh, yes,” Dan said, even cracking a smile. “I’ve had Jimmy Choo wedges lobbed at my head by angry brides because they didn’t come in Bangladesh green.” 

Thankfully, this made Louise laugh, her beaming smile showing off the endearing gap between her two front teeth, and Dan relaxed considerably. 

“How flexible is your schedule?” She asked him, her fingers threading together beneath her chin. 

“I can work whenever you need me to!” Dan replied, perhaps a bit too eagerly, and he blushed regretfully. Louise laughed again. She asked a few more questions, including whether or not he was allergic to any flowers (no), if he could arrange bouquets, (here, Dan gave a hesitant ‘yes’ because he figured it couldn’t be too difficult), and if he was afraid of using sharp tools to remove thorns from stems (which was another no). 

“Lastly, why do you think you’re a good candidate?” She asked, suddenly very serious. Dan paused, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure he _was_ a good candidate so much as he _needed_ to be one. Should he explain his circumstances to Louise, who seemed warm and understanding, or would that make him sound pathetic? He needed this job badly… 

Just as Dan was beginning to sweat, wondering if he had been silent for too long now, Louise reached across the counter to give his arm a gentle, playful push. 

“I’m joking! This isn’t a high school seminar,” She grinned, and relief flooded Dan like cool water, the anxious squeezing in his chest lessening considerably. 

“Well, Dan, I think you might just be a perfect fit,” Louise said, and Dan wanted to cry with joy. “We’re just about to close up for today,” she continued, her eyes straying to the little clock on the far wall. Dan followed her gaze, and was surprised to find it was nearly 5 o'clock in the evening. “Can you start tomorrow? We open at 9.” 

Dan nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide and his smile wider, wide enough to display the divots in his cheeks, “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” he gushed, his hands clasped together in front of him. Louise couldn’t help but smile again at Dan, who was absolutely precious, as he seized her hand with both of his own to shake it graciously. 

“Welcome aboard, Dan Howell.” 

And that was how Dan found himself standing on the pavement just around the corner from What’s Up, Buttercup?, yanking at his shirt collar and regretting every move he had made to land him in this position. He glanced at his phone: 8:56. He took a deep, steadying breath and navigated the remaining half a block to the shop, walking resolutely with a confident gait, though his knees felt like jelly, and only stalled outside for a brief moment, before he pushed the door open and peered inside. 

There stood Louise, a paper cup of to-go coffee in one hand, the other gesturing animatedly as she spoke to another person. Dan’s eyes went immediately to the stranger and he felt a swoop in his tummy that he tried to blame on his first day nerves. 

Dan had never seen anybody as handsome in his whole life; the unfamiliar person wore a short sleeved button up that matched the walls, and his eyes, perfectly. Black, thick-framed glasses settled on the bridge of his nose, giving him the look of a very intelligent bug, as they enhanced his already round eyes marginally. His hair was obsidian (too dark to be anything but from a bottle, in Dan’s opinion), and contrasted pleasingly with his pale skin. There was a happy flush to his cheeks, and Dan couldn’t help but notice how tall he was- maybe almost as tall as Dan himself. He, too, had a coffee between his hands, which were covered in bandages. 

Dan had been so busy staring at the man that he hadn’t realized both he and Louise were staring back, alerted by the bell. Blushing and stuttering, Dan tried to recover the awkward moment he had thrust himself into, but he couldn’t think of any acceptable way to salvage the wreckage. 

“Phil,” Louise said, and Dan thanked her over and over and over inside his mind for breaking the floundering silence, “This is the newbie, Dan Howell. Dan this is Phil Lester." 

Dan, still flustered, closed the gap between he and the other two in a few quick strides (he was, as his mother said, ⅔ legs), holding out a hand to shake. As he extended his arm, he could see his fingers trembling. Phil offered Dan the kind of smile that could make flowers grow, before taking his hand between both of his own and giving it a warm squeeze. 

“Hello, Dan. I’m Phil...although, Louise already said that,” Phil said, with an airy laugh that sounded like music, and Dan blushed again. “It’s nice to have you along. Louise and me just can’t handle all the work on our own anymore.” 

Dan attempted to stammer a reply, but he couldn’t overcome the sensation of Phil’s warm, bandaged hands engulfing his own, which he was sure was clammy and foul to the touch. 

Luckily for him, the bell above the door chimed once more, rescuing him temporarily from having to interact with Phil, who was moving to greet the customer warmly with the shop's sickeningly cute tagline. 

“C’mon, Dan. Let’s get you a smock,” Louise said to him, taking him by the elbow and leading him into a small room behind the counter. As she retrieved a yellow apron from the top shelf of a tall cabinet, Louise was humming. When she turned around, there was a knowing smirk on her bubblegum pink lips. 

“What?” Dan asked, suddenly feeling as if Louise could read his mind as she slipped the apron over his head. 

“Oh, nothing,” she replied, as he spun him around to tie the strings into a neat little bow at the base of his spine. “Nothing besides the fact that you have the hots for our boss.” 

Dan’s entire body felt warm as he immediately began to sputter defensively. 

“I never said- he’s...Phil-” 

“But I didn’t mention Phil, did I?” This did a good job in shutting Dan’s mouth. 

“He is good looking, that’s for sure,” she continued, as she straightened the smock on Dan and fixed his collar. “You aren’t stupid or blind, which you would have to be not to think so. Unfortunately for me, he’s not...well, into ladies. Fortunately for you, though-” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dan interrupted, his demeanor indignant, “I never said I was gay.” 

“I never said you were, either,” Louise hummed, the smirk clear in her tone as she dropped her voice to a whisper, “but you don’t make that a big a fool out of yourself for someone you don’t fancy, do you?” 

Dan tried to push Louise’s playful accusations from his mind and focus on his first day at his new job. Something she had said, though, about Phil being their boss, stuck with him. He wondered how Phil had come to such a high position and how long he’d been working there. It seemed like a relatively contemporary business, and surely Phil hadn’t asserted his way to the top...had he? Maybe he wasn’t the sweet, warm human being he pretended to be. 

Dan contemplated this as he hauled around the large metal watering can that had been thrust into his arms, struggling a little as he lifted it up to give the plants on the highest shelves a drink. 

Even though it was just watering, Dan was still afraid he was doing it wrong. Louise had instructed him to pour the water until the small dish at the base of each pot was filled, and so far, he was doing all right. 

_”Okay, maybe I overreacted,”_ Dan thought, as he swung the can gently at his side _“this isn’t so tough.”_

Just as he was watering a cluster of peonies in a lavender pot, the opening of the door and the ringing of the bell startled him just enough for the watering can to slip from his hands. He cried out, but was helpless to prevent the disaster, so he simply buried his head in his hands in mortified despair, shrinking into himself as the sound of metal crashing into hardwood echoed around the room and the sensation of cold water soaking the bottoms of his jeans made him shudder. 

Dead silence. 

_“If I just stand here like this, maybe I’ll evaporate,”_ Dan thought, almost pleaded, wishing he was a turtle so he could shrink into his shell and hide. However, he knew that the chances of him magically transfiguring into a shelled reptile were slim to none, so he risked a peek at the mess. 

The water pooled at his feet and trickled across the floor, dripping from the overturned can and streaming from a brand new crack created by the impact. He turned his head, and he could tell that the only reason nobody was staring was because they were too polite. 

Feeling himself go red, Dan snatched up the leaky can and hurried into the back room, eager to escape the horrendously awkward atmosphere. Once he was alone, he took a brief moment to turn and bang his head into the lilac-painted brick. His first day, his first _hour_ , and he was already fucking up. He could almost taste his firing now. 

With shaking hands, Dan placed the broken gardening tool on the floor and sighed as he ran a finger over the break, before he began to search for something to clean up his mess. He found a mop inside the cupboard where Louise had gotten his smock, and hurried onto the floor. By the time he’d gotten back, Phil was hovering over the mess with a towel in his hands. 

It took all of Dan’s willpower not to run away screaming. 

He cleared his throat softly, before he began to mop up the puddle. He could feel Phil staring at him, causing his cheeks to burn in embarrassment. Keeping his head down, he attempted to make quick work of the cleaning, so he could return to avoiding Phil. 

“How funny,” Phil said softly, causing Dan to pause and look up against his will. 

“How funny,” continued the man, as he reached up to touch the wavy petals of the peonies Dan had been trying to tend to. “That you should be so embarrassed as you were watering the peonies. Peonies symbolize a whole bunch of things- happy marriage, compassion, prosperity. But they also symbolize shame and bashfulness.” 

Dan looked down again, but Phil laughed. He moved forward, careful to avoid the puddle, and placed a hand on Dan’s shoulder. The touch electrified Dan, sending a shiver along his spine that cause goosepimples to raise up on his arms- he hoped Phil wouldn’t notice. 

“Please don’t be embarrassed,” Phil said gently, and Dan could swear he smelled honeysuckle lingering around them. Dan took a risk and raised his eyes to look at Phil, but it only lasted a few moments before he shied away. 

“Accidents happen, you know. You can’t beat yourself up every time something goes wrong! If I did that, I’d be black and blue.” Here, he gave another light giggle, his grip on Dan’s shoulder tightening briefly. “You’re doing fine. Better than I’d do at a job I was new at,” Phil was hoping to cheer Dan up, but the coffee-eyed boy was still looking as though he’d rather be dead than continue working. 

“You did wonderfully watering the plants. Look how happy they are! Do you know how to tell when a plant is happy?” he asked, and Dan shook his head. Phil reached out and coaxed the mop from Dan’s nervous grip before he lead Dan over to a small Lilac bush that prospered joyously. 

“See how green the leaves are? And how they’re shiny? And see, the flowers are reaching their petals up to the sky! It means the plant is healthy. And a healthy plant is a happy plant! Now,” he said, putting his hands on Dan’s shoulders, which pretty much forced Dan to look at him. “Be a happy plant! Smile! You’re a flower!” he said, and the enthusiasm glittering in his voice was so infectious that Dan _had_ to smile in return. 

Phil’s whole face lit up; Dan’s smile was beautiful; it set his dark eyes to shimmering and caused little crinkles to appear at the corners. He even had dimples, which made it very difficult to resist squeezing his cheeks. 

“There we are! Now, uh,” Phil cleared his throat and put his hands on his hips. “Get back to work!” he said, in his best ‘boss’ voice, before he shot Dan another encouraging smile and turned to assist Louise with her current customer. 

The rest of the day was rather uneventful. 

After lunch, Phil taught Dan how to de-thorn the roses, although Phil wasn’t very good at it himself. This explained why Phil’s hands were covered in Band-Aids. Surprisingly (more to himself than anybody else), Dan was actually relatively good at it; he could get the whole thorn off without lacerating the stem, and he only poked himself twice before he got the hang of it. It would be a boldfaced lie if Dan said he hadn’t spent the better part of his time watching Phil in his element. When Phil was focused, his tongue would just barely poke out, his eyebrows drawn together ever so slightly, and he would hardly notice when he pricked his fingers. 

Dan berated himself mentally. _“Quit drooling over your boss, idiot,”_ he thought, forcing his attention back to the yellow rose he was pruning. 

He hadn’t even noticed the speck of blood on his finger. 

By the end of his shift, as the day was drawing to a close, Dan was feeling like, despite his cataclysmically embarrassing incident with the watering can, his first day had been a success. The atmosphere in the shop was lazy and light as the sunlight died and the sky faded into a watercolor painting. 

Phil was busy arranging deep purple calla lilies and bright yellow tulips in a tall vase, Louise was busy taking inventory and filling out delivery forms, and Dan, who was _supposed_ to be busy sweeping up fallen leaves and petals, was actually preoccupied with staring at Phil. He had tried to tell himself over and over throughout the day to get over himself. 

_“He’s your boss,”_ He thought begrudgingly, his grip on the broom handle tightening. _“Plus, I’m sure he hasn’t given you the time of day. You’ve known the guy for what- 8 whole hours? How can you be so...weirdly obsessed with someone you’ve know for 8 hours? Besides that, he-”_

Dan’s thoughts were interrupted by another voice. “Dan…?” 

He looked up, startled out of his trance, and he was, for the second time that day, met by the gazes of both Phil and Louise as they stared at him quizzically. 

“I...uh- yeah?” he asked, moving a hand up to casually rub the back of his neck. 

“Are you alright…? You’ve just been kind of...standing there staring at the ground for a while,” Phil said, and Dan wanted to beat himself with the broom in his hands. 

“Oh...Yeah! Yes, of course. I just...I got distracted. I’m sorry,” Dan mumbled in reply. How many more times could he humiliate himself in one day? 

He finished up the sweeping as quickly as he could, then glanced at the clock. Nearly 5. 

“You’re free to go,” he heard Phil say to Louise as he took the broom into the back room, where he took off his smock and folded it neatly. He ran his hands through his hair and fixed his collar _again_ before poking his head out of the door. 

Louise was gone, and Phil was humming softly as he found a space on the shelves for his newest arrangement of flowers, cleverly named “Tulips Are Better Than One”. 

“Is...is it alright if I head on home?” Dan asked timidly, twisting his fingers together. 

“Oh! Yes, of course,” Phil replied without looking, as he continued to tweak the bouquet of flowers until it was perfect. “Have a good evening, Dan.” 

“Have a good evening,” Dan nodded, before he pushed the door open and began to make his way up the sidewalk towards home. He was maybe fifteen paces from the shop when the sound of sneakers pounding the pavement behind him made him turn around. 

“Wait! Dan!” 

It was Phil. 

The flower shop owner skidded to a stop before Dan, holding out one of the pretty yellow tulips from the bouquet he had been perfecting. 

“Uh...for completing your first day. A thank you...for doing so well,” He said, slightly out of breath but beaming all the same. 

Dan tried to ignore the hot flush that invaded his cheeks, neck, and ears as he took the delicate flower from Phil, gazing down at it for a moment in speechless surprise. 

“I...th-thank you. So much. It’s beautiful,” he finally managed, giving Phil a bashful smile. 

“It is, yeah…” Phil trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck the way Dan had earlier, and Dan recognized this as a sign that he was feeling uncomfortable. 

“Well...I’ll see you tomorrow?” Dan suggested, trying to save them both from feeling awkward. 

“Oh! About that...Would you be alright with coming in an hour early tomorrow? To help me move some of the plants into bigger pots?” Phil asked, looking almost reluctant to ask. 

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” Dan said, trying not to sound too excited about the prospect of spending an entire hour, just him, Phil, and the flowers. 

Phil looked relieved. “Brilliant! Brilliant...tomorrow then.” he nodded, and Dan waved goodbye. On his way home, the spring in his step was undeniable, and so were the stars in his eyes as he twirled the stem of the tulip between his fingers dreamily. 

Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all.


	2. Lovely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! So, quite a few of you requested the second chapter, so here it is! This one involves a bit of backstory, kind of familiarizing us with the characters and stuff! I promise the next one will progress the plot more! Again, I would absolutely love some feedback, what you like, what you didn't like, and anything else you can think of! Thank you!

When his alarm went off at 7:00 the next morning, an audible reaction rumbled from beneath the blankets that Dan had drawn up over his head sometime during the night.

A single hand poked out from beneath the mountain of sheets and felt around frantically until the offending phone was discovered and promptly muted, followed by another moan of despair. 

Dan lay there for a brief moment, pondering if it was worth it to raise from the dead an entire hour early (and several hours earlier than he would if he didn’t have a job) just for some alone time with Phil, whom he had only met the day before. As soon as that cynical thought crossed his mind, it was immediately overwhelmed by the memory of Phil’s twinkling eyes and his cozy touch, and Dan despised himself a little bit for the way his toes curled up when he rolled over and looked at the lovely yellow flower that he had placed on his bedside table in a clear glass of water. 

Still a touch begrudging, he stumbled out of bed and peered into the mirror on the wall opposite his bed, making a face as he tried to smooth his hair down. Accustomed to getting ready within a timespan of about five minutes, he found himself doing something he essentially never thought he would do: 

Worrying about what he was going to wear. 

Feeling equal parts ridiculous and anxious, he rifled through his closet indecisively. He wanted badly to impress Phil, and while he tried his hardest to convince himself it was because Phil was his boss, he knew that it wasn’t. 

The majority of his wardrobe was black- he felt it suited his personality and his tendencies to contemplate the complexities of the universe and the insignificance of humanity. However, today he surpassed all of his depressing attire and went straight to his meager collection of clothing that featured other colors, considering each one thoughtfully; the t-shirt that was completely covered in galaxy print felt too pretentious, and the one covered in kittens seemed too juvenile. It did occur to him briefly that whatever he wore would be covered by his smock for most of the day, but he ignored this notion, however true it may have been. 

Eventually, he settled on a button up shirt with short sleeves and a collar. His favorite part about the shirt, though, was that it was covered in moths. Not real moths, which absolutely terrified him, but pictures of little moths that patterned the whole thing. Usually, he wore it ironically, but he had decided today that it was the most acceptable shirt he owned, and so he put it on (paired with the only pair of actual pants he had, which were black skinny jeans), and looked in the mirror again. 

With a sigh, he considered his reflection; Dan had always thought he looked far too young for his age and that his cheeks were too chubby, but once he discovered that (after browsing the internet for over an hour) there were no exercises he could do to burn cheek fat, he was forced to live with it. Smoothing his hair down one more time, he glanced at his phone: 7:24 

He knew it took approximately fifteen minutes to walk to the tube station from his apartment and that the ride into the most densely populated area of the city only took ten, so if he left now, perhaps he might even be a tad bit early. 

Dan’s stroll to the station was characterized by a lot of deep breathing and attempting to stabilize his wobbly knees, along with rehearsing a handful of topics he could use in conversation with Phil. The easiest thing for Dan to talk about was music; it was one of the only things that he was certain of. In fact, one of the main factors of Dan’s decision to drop out of University, where he had been pursuing a law degree, was his passion for making music. 

It sounded absolutely absurd and scarcely anyone had supported him through it, but the weight that lifted off of Dan’s chest when he had submitted his withdrawal from the program was enough to make him feel as though he could fly. 

The sensation of limitless possibilities, though, was short-lived. Just six days subsequent to his exodus, Dan received a phone call from his enraged father, who managed to make fifteen minutes feel like three hours as he castigated Dan and accused him of being _ungrateful_ for all of the money he was flushing down the drain and how he had taken advantage of his parent’s _kindness_ . 

It took all of Dan’s self control not to lash out and remind his father that booting him from the house at eighteen when he was caught kissing a boy and refusing him the money he had inherited from his grandfather, because Grandpa had been a “man of God” and would have been “horrified” by Dan’s “demonic” actions didn’t necessarily suit the definition of “kindness”. 

The only reason Dan had been able to attend University at all was his Grandma Josie, who, upon learning that Dan’s father was withholding his inheritance, threatened to disinherit him if he didn’t give Dan access to the money. 

The inheritance, a small fortune, had been enough to carry Dan through the first three years of his degree. He was able to allocate enough money to make a down payment on a flat with one of his classmates and it covered the first few months of rent. 

Dan wasn’t stupid enough to rely completely on that money, though, and so he worked weekends at a David’s Bridal. This had brought in just enough so Dan could pay his half of the utilities, and everything seemed to be going perfectly, until the night Dan’s crisis hit him. 

Shortly after he dropped out, Dan’s flatmate, Elliot, revealed his plans to propose to his girlfriend of three years and, consequently, his plans to move out. 

Once Elliot was gone, Dan’s weekend occupation as a bridal assistant no longer provided him with adequate payment and he was forced to quit, although he had quite enjoyed it. The desperate search for a full time job came soon afterwards, and that was how Dan wound up where he was currently. 

So lost had he been in his reverie that Dan hadn’t realized the tube had reached his stop until it was almost too late. He tripped up the aisle clumsily and stumbled off of the tube mere seconds before the doors slid shut, and he stood on the platform, clutching his chest, which had seized up momentarily in panic. 

Above ground and on the pavement, a different sort of trepidation began to creep over Dan, something far more intimidating than nearly missing his stop. It wasn’t, Dan realized, _just_ apprehension he felt fluttering inside his stomach. The reason his palms were damp and his chest felt a little tighter was because he was _giddy_. 

With the prospect of one-on-one time with Phil looming before him, Dan felt like a fawning schoolboy, starry-eyed and cloudy-headed with butterflies tickling him from the inside out. Dan inhaled a deep, undaunted breath as his eyes found the inviting yellow sign, determined not to hesitate today. 

_“Good morning, Phil! How are you today? Did you sleep well?”_ Dan rehearsed internally, the voice in his mind sounding bright and friendly. He wondered worriedly if he could make his actual voice sound so warm as he pushed the door open gently and went inside. 

To his surprise, it was empty. 

He took a few more tentative steps into the room, his eyes sweeping over the interior several times before he was forced to accept that Phil wasn’t there. He wondered if he was early, but when he checked the time on his phone, it was 7:58, an hour before opening. 

Isn’t that when Phil had asked him to come in? 

Dan opened his mouth to call out, wondering if, perhaps, Phil was in the back, when he was cut off by an angry voice speaking loudly. 

“-have your bags packed by the time I get home, huh? Why not? Why not? I won’t stay with you another minute,” the voice said, obviously having a heated argument over the phone. 

“No- I don’t _care_ , Julian. I don’t. We’re _done_. It’s _over_. You-you...you _weed_. I hope you...you burn in hell-” here, the voice cracked. Choked sobs mingled with the heated words, and it was only then that Dan figured out who the angry voice belonged to. 

Phil. 

_No, no…_ Dan thought, feeling a bit sick as he listened to the weeping, wondering who this Julian guy was and what he did that was horrendous enough to take pleasant, dulcet Phil and turn him into an infuriated, bawling mess. 

“You’re a _pig_. I don’t give a- Oh, you love me, do you? Do you? How much did you _love_ me when you were- Don’t insult me, Julian. Don’t. Goodbye, Julian. No- I said _goodbye_!” Phil’s fragmented voice shouted, followed by the sound of a phone being slammed against a flat surface, causing Dan to cringe. Moments later, the door to the lilac-painted utility room opened gingerly and Phil slipped out, using the hem of his smock to dab at his cheeks and eyes. 

Before Dan even had the opportunity to pretend as though he hadn’t heard anything, to act like he had just arrived, Phil looked up. 

He started violently, nearly dropping his glasses, which he held in his left hand, before shoving them onto his face. If it were possible, his alabaster skin went even whiter. 

“Oh my God...Dan, I-I am _so_ sorry, I didn’t...Oh, how unprofessional…” Phil mumbled, pressing his hands to his cheeks and shaking his head in regret and humiliation. 

Dan didn’t know how to respond; should he comfort Phil? Ask him what had happened, or would that cross some sort of line? If he ignored Phil’s strife, would he look insensitive? 

“Are you alright? I heard everything,” He finally blurted out, resisting the urge to cover his mouth with his hands. 

_Oh God_ , Dan thought, seriously considering suffocating himself as soon as he had the chance. _Dan Howell, you are such a dick._

“Everything…?” Phil said weakly, before he did his best to stand tall, though Dan could see his frame trembling. 

“I’m alright. Yes. Of course I am.” he said resolutely, straightening his apron and smoothing out the wrinkles in it. His opalescent eyes, still slightly pink from his previously shed tears, scanned the shop, before his gaze returned to Dan. 

“Would you like to go and get a coffee with me? It shouldn’t take long, and when we return, I’ll show you how to re-pot the plants,” Phil said, catching Dan off guard. 

Phil was inviting him for coffee? Why? What did it mean? 

_Nothing_ , he told himself in an irritated manner, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. _Don’t be stupid_. 

He hadn’t even the chance to give an answer before Phil was taking off his smock and hanging it on a hook behind the counter. Dan noticed, for the first time, that on the breast pocket of Phil’s smock was his name, followed by the word ‘owner’, with a little embroidered flower beside it. 

Phil ambled over to the door, keys in hand, before he looked back at Dan. 

“Are you coming?” 

Of course, Dan couldn’t possibly say no, considering the circumstances of the overall situation, so he gave a swift nod of the head before he hurried after Phil. 

“There’s a little cafe just one block over,” Phil said, as he turned to lock the shop doors behind them. “It’s called ‘Java The Hut’.” and he giggled a little. Dan looked over at him in awe, unable to believe that Phil could be laughing at anything at the moment. 

In reality, Phil was the sort of person who did his very best not to dwell on the negatives, as he knew he only had one life to live and planned on living it as happily as he could. His heart was still aching, but he tried to forget about it for the moment and enjoy going for coffee with a neat boy. 

_Your employee_ , he reminded himself briefly, although it was difficult to ignore how interesting Dan was. His demeanor was shy, but Phil could tell- he could _feel_ \- that there was something incredible just beneath the surface. When Dan smiled, he could see light deep in his eyes, and although they were practically strangers, Phil found himself fascinated by it. 

In an attempt to prevent an awkwardly quiet walk, Dan chimed in quickly with his award-winning, completely unique ice-breaker. 

“So...what music do you like?” 

The question seemed to intrigue Phil, who took a moment to think about his response. 

“Well...Muse is my favorite band-” 

“Wait, Muse?” Dan accidentally interrupted, feeling his entire being light up in surprise and absolute delight. “Which album is your favorite?” 

The rest of the walk to the cafe was spent debating which Muse album could be considered the best of all time. Ultimately, they agreed on Origin of Symmetry, though Dan stood firmly by Black Holes and Revelations as second best, while Phil _swore_ by Absolution. 

“Oh! Here we are!” Phil said, just as Dan was going to point out the third flaw in his musical logic, and he opened the door, causing a swirl of rich, coffee-scented air to waft out. 

“After you,” He said, and Dan, enchanted by the opulent smell and Phil’s politeness, blushed slightly and entered the warm cafe. 

Although it was hardly past 8, the cafe was buzzing with life; people with laptops occupied brightly patterned armchairs near the wide-paneled windows, groups of two and three huddled together over steaming mugs and spoke spiritedly. Businessmen and women dressed in suits looked importantly at their watches as they waited for their orders to be called, and Phil greeted more people than Dan could count as they approached the counter. 

“Good morning, Phil!” A sprightly employee with unruly hair and bright, bright eyes said, and Phil gave a wave of his hand. 

“Hello, PJ!” He replied, leaning against the counter with a smile that invited conversation. “Business is good today!” 

“It is, yeah,” The young man, PJ, responded with a grin, as he read the name scribbled onto the cup that was thrust into his hands. “Lizzy!” 

A teenage girl approached the counter and thanked PJ for the coffee before dropping some coins into the tip jar, and Dan practically hid behind Phil, his eyes trained on the blackboard menu. He pretended to read the specials, just so his eyes had a place to go, and attempted to phase out of existence. 

He was doing a fairly good job of acting as though he didn’t exist, too, until he heard the fatal words: 

“And who’s this?” 

Reluctantly, Dan tore his eyes away from the board and trained them on PJ, who was looking expectantly between he and Phil. 

“Oh! Peej, this is Dan. He’s the new employee! Dan, this is PJ- he owns this cafe.” 

“Well, I co-own it,” PJ replied modestly, and Dan accepted his handshake after slyly wiping his palm on his jeans. “What can I get you two?” 

In this moment, Dan realized that he hadn’t actually absorbed any of the information from the menu at all, and he had no clue what he wanted to order- or if he had any money on him, for that matter. However, before Dan’s over-active panic mode kicked it into high gear, Phil spoke: 

“I’ll take my usual, I think...And for Dan...Let’s try the same,” And Dan blinked in surprise. 

“Is that okay, Dan?” 

Dan nodded because he didn’t know what else to do, and his hands moved immediately to his back pocket to fish out his wallet. 

“Coming right up! That’ll be...5.45, please!” PJ said, but as soon as Dan was pulling the money from his wallet, Phil was setting a bill down on the counter. 

“There you are, Peej. And keep the change, please,” He said, his voice honeyed in a way that would make most people sound false. 

But Phil didn’t sound false. He sounded completely, genuinely sweet and it made Dan wonder briefly if Phil was actually human. 

“Shall we find a place to sit?” Phil suggested, after their order was called and they both held pleasantly warm cups between their hands. He lead Dan away from the counter in search of a free table, and they found a tiny booth in a corner that suddenly felt secluded when they sat down, and Dan realized how intimate the setting was. 

He wondered if he should bring up Muse again. 

“I’m truly am sorry,” Phil spoke up, and he was looking down at his hands, fingers threaded delicately together, thumbs twiddling. “About what you heard,” 

Dan’s eyebrows drew together, and if he wasn’t so _damn_ awkward, he would have put a hand on Phil’s arm to comfort him. 

“No...please don’t be sorry…” Dan said gently, desperate to make Phil feel better about the situation. It was becoming clear that Phil was the kind of person who constantly put others before himself, even in situations where he was the one suffering. 

It was quiet for a moment. Dan watched as Phil wilted. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he began, though his brain was screaming at him to stop, that he was prying, and that Phil would recoil from him. “What happened?” 

He regretted it immediately, his mind already formulating ways to quit his job and move to Kyrgyzstan, when Phil smiled sardonically. 

“Well...to be frank...I suppose I got cheated on.” 

Another beat of silence, this time because Dan was dumbfounded. 

_Who_ , he thought, completely bewildered, _Would cheat on someone like Phil? Phil is so...he’s so…_

“You’re so lovely, though!” he protested, his perplexity swiftly giving way to anger. 

Phil turned a soft shade of pink at the compliment, but the smile tugging his lips didn’t repeal the tears that sprung to his eyes. 

“Last night...when I got home...all the lights were off,” his voice was softening, and Dan could see him visibly edging towards another breakdown. His lower lip wobbled and his fingers were twitching, and Dan wanted to comfort him, but he wasn’t sure how. 

“It was strange...because I knew Julian was home...I knew he was...and it was only 6 o’clock…” 

He took a deep, shaky breath. “When I went inside...I heard it. I heard it…” 

Tears began to slip from the corners of his eyes, and Dan quickly offered him a napkin from the dispenser at the edge of the table. 

Phil took a moment to dab at his cheeks, giving Dan a soft ‘thank you’, before he continued. 

“I heard him h-having...well...having sex. In our bed...with someone else,” His voice was but a whisper now, and a horrible pang made Dan’s chest ache, watching helplessly as Phil relapsed into silent sobbing, his face buried in the napkin. 

“Phil…” he said softly, glancing around to make sure that nobody was staring. He didn’t want Phil to be embarrassed; he was having a shitty day as it was. 

“He...He isn’t worth it then, is he?” Dan said gingerly, praying that Phil wasn’t still madly in love with the guy. “If he cheated on you, it means he didn’t acknowledge your worth. He wasn’t able to recognize the value of what he had. If you ask me, that’s not any loss of yours. You are...so lovely. So lovely,” He insisted, and he swore he could see Phil’s shoulders shaking less and less the more he spoke. “And you deserve someone who treats you like you put the stars in the sky,” 

Dan cringed internally at how cheesy he sounded, but Phil didn’t seem to think it was cheesy at all. He rose his head from his hands, his cheeks flustered from crying. The tip of his nose was a little pink, and if Dan hadn’t been so focused on making him feel better, he probably would have found that small detail very endearing. 

“You really think I’m lovely?” Phil asked, and Dan nodded resolutely. 

“We’ve hardly known each other a day but I think you might just be the loveliest person I’ve ever met.” 

Phil caught Dan’s gaze for a moment, before he looked down at his hands. 

Dan swallowed with some difficulty; he hoped Phil didn’t think he was trying to flirt with him. It would be an abhorrently inappropriate thing to do, considering all Phil was going through, not to mention the fact that Dan hadn’t exactly come to terms with his crush yet. 

Sniffling a little, Phil said “That means a lot to me...you’re so nice,” his voice still trembling but his eyes dry. 

Moments later, he made a soft noise and yanked his phone from his pocket. It was nearly 9 o’clock! 

“Oh, dear…” he mumbled, hurrying to his feet in a frantic enough manner to make Dan follow suit. 

“I’m sorry...I talked for far too long...I didn’t even get to show you how to re-pot the plants!” 

Before Dan could assure him that it was fine, that he would stay back a little after his shift was over to learn, he found himself yanked into a tight hug. 

At first, Dan found himself unable to react. His body froze, and his brain ran a mile a minute before he had the common sense to return the embrace. In his arms, Phil was warm, as though actual sunshine shimmered from his pores, and the nostalgic scent of honeysuckles overwhelmed every single one of his five senses. He found himself leaning into the soft tickle of Phil’s hair against his cheek, the sensation sending prickles down his arms. 

When Phil pulled away, Dan felt dizzy. 

“Thank you, Dan,” said Phil’s gentle whisper, but all Dan’s attempts to respond were foiled by his malfunctioning brain. 

Together, they left Java The Hut and as they made their way as quickly as they could towards the flower shop, Dan couldn’t take his eyes off of Phil. 

_Dan Howell_ , he thought, the glow of Phil’s hug still tingling in his fingers and toes. _What have you gotten yourself into?_


	3. Bruised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Sorry that this chapter is a bit late, but I wanted to update it today and let you guys know that I won't be able to update again for about a week, as I will be on vacation in a place with no Wifi (blasphemy, I know). However, when I return, I should have more to upload! I hope you all enjoy chapter three, and as always, feedback is always welcomed and encouraged!

Throughout the day, after he and Phil came sprinting down the pavement together, late and flustered, Louise continued to give Dan the same look she had given him the day before, the one that made him feel transparent.

He tried not to be bothered by it as he made his rounds watering the plants (he had been downgraded to a little plastic tea kettle that required him to go into the back and fill it up six different times throughout the process, but it was better than risking another cripplingly humiliating incident), although there were a few instances in which he found himself with a doofy smile on his face for no particular reason, and he was sure to snap out of it as quickly as possible. 

As he was removing the thorns from a bunch of little acacia blossoms, he began to wonder if crushes had always felt this way. 

Of course, he remembered the sweaty palms and butterflies from his primary school days, but what he couldn’t seem to recall was the floating sensation or the sudden, overwhelming urge to giggle when he thought about Phil’s arms flung around his neck. 

_A crush?_ The more cynical part of his brain intervened. _You hardly know the guy. What if he collects toenails in jars? What if he eats peanut butter with a spoon? What if he thinks Game of Thrones is pretentious?_

Dan tried to ignore these thoughts, but he had a natural tendency to be pessimistic, and by the end of his shift he was caught in a continuous loop of accepting his infatuation with Phil and trying to convince himself that he was crazy. 

He was just folding up his smock, thinking about stopping by Java The Hut again, perhaps to purchase a panini for dinner, when a gentle tap on his shoulder made him jump. 

He turned, and found a hesitant-looking Phil with one plant cradled in the crook of each arm, chewing a little at the inside of his cheek. 

“Uh- Hey,” Phil said, raising his bespectacled eyes from the floor. “I was wondering if I could, perhaps, show you how to-” 

“Re-pot the plants!” Dan interrupted, mentally face-palming and thinking that he seriously needed to work on his social skills, since that was the second time in one day he’d cut Phil off in the middle of speaking, but Phil laughed. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve been annoying about it, haven’t I?” He chuckled, and Dan opened his mouth to protest, but Phil shushed him playfully, his cheeks a little flustered. 

“It’s alright. I’m used to it, after all. Everyone’s always thought my plant thing was odd,” He said as he lead Dan onto the floor. “Can you grab those, pretty please?” 

He nodded his head towards two medium-sized pots sitting on the floor behind the counter, and Dan scooped them up gingerly, thinking that, with his luck, there was a fair chance both of them were going to end up smashed if he wasn’t careful. 

Phil made himself comfortable in the middle of the floor, but before Dan could join him, Louise took him by the arm. 

“He’s very vulnerable right now,” She told him in a whisper, sounding distressed, and Dan didn’t need any context to know why. “He was with Julian for six years, and even though he was a monstrous twat,” Dan practically heard her jaw tighten. “At least he kept Phil safe...I’m not sure how he’s going to handle being on his own.” 

Dan’s eyes strayed to the man sitting cross-legged on the floor with a flowering plant cradled in his lap, closely inspecting the leaves as though he were a mother searching her child for chicken pox, and he wondered what sort of destructive behavior Louise was worried he might take part in. 

Louise said, out loud, “I’m going to head home now, Phil...are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you? If you need a place to sleep, I’m sure James wouldn’t mind.” 

Phil looked up and his demeanor softened. “It’s okay, Lou. I’ll be alright. I promise. See you tomorrow morning.” 

Louise looked as though she had more to say, but she simply sighed, gave Dan’s arm a gentle squeeze, and left. 

Feeling as though some kind of responsibility had been inadvertently placed on him, Dan took a deep breath and joined Phil on the floor. 

“The most important part of moving a plant is watering it beforehand,” Phil began, as he used the tea kettle to moisten the soil of one plant, before handing it to Dan and encouraging him to do the same. “So that the roots don’t tear when you remove it from the pot.” 

Dan took the kettle and did exactly what Phil said to do, though his eyes continuously flickered to look at the man, wondering, with apprehension, what was going through his mind. Phil buried his long fingers in the soil, using his feet to keep the pot from moving, and uprooted the plant. 

“Do you see how the roots are kind of straggly in some places? And they’re kind of limp? It means they’re dead, and it’s really important to get rid of them,” Phil said, and Dan grabbed the pair of tiny scissors from inside one of the pots and, with Phil’s guidance, carefully removed the dead roots. He found himself rather absorbed in it, and felt very proud when he drew back and inspected his work. 

“Very lovely, Dan,” Phil said, his tone warm, before he lowered the freshly pruned plant into it’s new pot. They repeated the process on the second plant, although this time, Dan was the one who pushed his fingers into the damp soil, unable to resist wrinkling up his nose and laughing at the sensation between his fingers. 

He also couldn’t resist watching Phil as he removed the roots, because he did the thing where his tongue barely poked out and his eyes squinted a little bit and it made Dan smile like an idiot. 

“What?” Phil asked, when he caught Dan staring at him, and Dan looked away quickly. “Is there something on my face?” He asked, raising his dirt-speckled fingers to touch his face, simultaneously smudging his cheeks with soil. 

Dan gave a short laugh, shaking his head in amusement. “No, it’s just...it’s nice to see someone who cares so much about what they do. That’s all.” he said, as he placed the second plant in it’s new pot. 

This made Phil blush a little, the slight fluster particularly pronounced against his high cheekbones. “Why, thank you,” he said, flattered by the compliment. “It means a lot to me.” Wiping his hands on his smock, Phil got to his feet and disappeared momentarily before he came back, a large bag of soil in tow. 

Plunking the bag down and sitting beside it, Phil reached his hands into the bag and scooped fresh soil into the new pots, using his palms to pat it down around the roots. 

“There we go!” He cooed ardently. “Thank you for your help. You did wonderfully.” 

Dan was sweeping up the soil that had fallen onto the floor as Phil moved the plants back to their places on the shelves when Phil piped up again. 

“You’re free to go, Dan,” he said, but as soon as he did, Dan was reminded of what Louise had told him, and a sliver of anxiety wrapped around his chest. 

Louise had offered Phil a place to stay. Did that mean he didn’t have one? Surely he wasn’t planning on returning to the asshat who had broken his heart? 

Dan turned, his mouth open, completely unsure of what he was going to say, until he stopped dead in his mental tracks; as Phil was reaching up to a high shelf, his arms above his head, Dan noticed five circular, black-blue bruises on the back of his left arm. 

“Phil!” He said, anger bubbling in the pit of his tummy as he abandoned the broom and approached Phil, whom he had startled with his unexpectedly stormy tone. 

“He hurt you?” Dan demanded, and Phil looked bewildered, until his hand moved up, his fingertips brushing the bruises. 

“No! I mean...yes, I suppose. But...it was an accident?” He tried, but it was clear that Dan didn’t care at all whether it was an accident or not. “He was trying to stop me from leaving.” 

There was something in Phil’s tone that Dan couldn’t quite place. It almost sounded like pleading, as if he were desperate for Dan to take his word for it, but the look on Phil’s face stopped him from pressing him for information. 

“You haven’t got a place to stay tonight, have you?” He asked gently, and Phil opened his mouth, as if to protest, but he simply sighed and shook his head. 

“I was going to sleep here,” Phil said, looking around the shop, his hand still pressed over the contusions on his arm as though he were trying to pretend they weren’t there. 

Phil looked small standing there, his arms wrapped around himself, and suddenly looking so tired that it knocked against Dan’s heart to think of him curled up on the hardwood floor, trying to sleep. 

_He’s a stranger, Dan._

_You don’t know him, Dan._

_You’ve hardly known him one day, Dan._

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” 

Phil looked at Dan, his eyes searching Dan’s face, and it occurred to him that Phil didn’t know him either, that _he_ was a stranger, and that maybe even Phil was afraid to say yes. 

“I have a sofa bed,” Dan added, as if that would make the situation any less harrowing, but Phil actually cracked a smile, his hand moving to rub at the back of his neck timidly. 

“I don’t want to cause any trouble...” Phil told him, and he was genuinely concerned about becoming a burden to anyone else, especially one of his own employees. 

“It isn’t any trouble,” Dan told him firmly, feeling as though he would be failing his duty to be a decent human being if he left someone he considered to be at least an acquaintance with no proper place to sleep, even if the panic-inclined part of his brain disagreed. “I’m not actually going to let you say no, so you might as well just agree to sleep on my sofa bed.” 

On the way home, with Phil sitting beside him, his hands folded in his lap and his eyes wandering, Dan considered the day’s events and decided that he never could have seen this coming. 

This morning, if somebody had told him that he would wind up taking Phil Lester, the very human being that had caused him to be so jittery and nervy, back to his apartment with him, he would have considered them crazy. 

He did his best to keep from dwelling on the five tiny bruises, which seemed even more ghastly against Phil’s practically translucent skin, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there were parts of the puzzle, significant parts, that he was missing. 

_Louise even said that this Julian guy kept him safe,_ Dan reminded himself, risking a glance over at Phil, who was still in his own little world. _Plus, it isn’t any of your business. He’s your employer and you’re his employee, and that’s all._

But that _wasn’t_ all. 

Even if he refused to admit it to himself, Dan _felt_ something for Phil. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have offered to let Phil sleep in his apartment after knowing him for hardly 24 hours. 

He cast another quick peek at the man seated beside him, but this time, Phil was already looking at him. 

Phil looked away quickly, shifting a little bit uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing, and Dan couldn’t resist smiling a little. 

“What?” he asked, leaning over to peer at Phil, who gave an airy laugh and shook his head, before raising his gaze to look Dan in the eyes, causing Dan’s heart to skip a beat. 

“I’m just very grateful that I met you.” 

“Sorry it isn’t much,” Dan was saying sheepishly as he pushed open the door to his flat, briefly praying that things weren’t a colossal disaster before he flicked the lights on. 

To his relief, the lounge was relatively in order, and Phil looked absolutely delighted as he looked around the unfamiliar room. 

There was a black, quilted sofa that, as promised, folded out into a bed, with two fluffy cushions and a quilt draped over the back. A little wooden coffee table littered with DVD cases and comic books sat in front of it, and there was a television on top of an entertainment center which was, of course, filled to the brim with more DVDs, along with a black Wii with a pile of games beside it. There was even a small fireplace opposite the door and a side table with a lamp on top. 

“No, it’s lovely,” Phil said, taking a couple of steps into the room and looking around. 

“You can take a shower if you want- uh, the bathroom is just down the hall and to the left. And you could borrow some of my clothes- if you want to, of course.” Dan offered, suddenly feeling an unruly amount of pressure to be a good host. 

“A shower?” Phil said, sounding wistful. “If it’s not any trouble, that would be lovely…” 

Once Phil was in the shower, Dan hurried into his bedroom and yanked open his wardrobe in search of something Phil could wear as pajamas. 

Ultimately, he decided on a pair of pajama bottoms with Darth Vader’s head patterned all over them and a grey sweatshirt from Uni that was too big and too comfortable. 

Folding them neatly, he carried them to the bathroom, hesitating for only a moment before he tapped on the door. 

“Phil, I’ve found some pajamas for you to wear. I’ll put them on the floor,” he called through the door, swiftly placing the clothes on the ground before hurrying away and hoping that hadn’t been an awkward thing to do. 

After that, he returned to the lounge and looked around, a little frantic, before he fluffed up the pillows as best as he could and laid the quilt out so Phil wouldn’t feel bad about asking for a blanket, which Dan knew he would because he seemed to feel bad about having to ask for anything. 

He felt a rumble in his belly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since lunch and neither, he assumed, had Phil. 

A hasty rummage through his refrigerator revealed nothing but mostly-eaten, leftover Chinese food, one lone egg in a styrofoam carton, questionable salsa, and half a bottle of cheap red wine. 

Dan decided it might be best to order pizza. 

After contemplating what sort of pizza Phil would like (and ruling out the option of asking him through the bathroom door), he sat on the sofa and worked up the courage to call and place the order. 

He was so preoccupied with ordering the pizza that he didn’t feel the other end of the sofa sink beneath the weight of another person, didn’t even notice Phil was there, until the phone call was over. 

“Pizza?” Phil said, sounding as though he were trying not to sound too hopeful, spooking Dan a little and making him jump. 

Phil giggled, actually _giggled_ , and Dan groaned internally because Phil looked very endearing with damp, towel-dried hair, and he was practically drowning in Dan’s sweatshirt. 

He looked far less tired, rejuvenated by the cleanliness, and Dan smiled as he pulled a pillow into his arms and rested his chin on it. 

“Thank you again, so much, for going through all of this trouble just for me. I promise I’ll repay you for it in any way I can,” He told Dan, but Dan shook his head. 

“Phil, you don’t have to-” 

“But neither did you! I could have-” 

“I was _not_ going to let you sleep in the-” 

“But you’re going out of your way to-” 

“Because it would have been awful to sleep in the-” 

This time, Phil cut him off by bopping him in the face with the cushion he was holding, and Dan yelped in surprise. 

There was a wickedly cute gleam in Phil’s eye. 

Dan did his best to appear betrayed and hurt, looking at Phil in mock-astonishment before he seized the pillow behind him and brought it down on top of Phil’s head, resulting in a high-pitched protest and loud laughter. 

“You are _in_ for it,” Dan said, smacking Phil with the pillow again and trying to prevent him from getting another hit in. 

“Cheater!” Phil exclaimed, his tone bright and bubbly as he moved towards Dan for better leverage, and Dan was just quick enough to scramble off of the sofa, with Phil hot on his heels. 

The pillow fight continued until they were both flushed, out of breath, and laughing so hard that they almost didn’t hear the buzzer. Dan managed to get to his feet from where he had barricaded himself behind the sofa. 

“Truce, truce!” He said, and Phil peered out from behind the coffee table, his hair askew and his eyes bright. 

By the time Dan returned with the pizza box in his arms, Phil had returned to the sofa and was rummaging through the DVDs on the coffee table. 

“You have wonderful taste,” He told Dan, clutching Dan’s Attack On Titan box set in one hand and the first season of Breaking Bad in the other. 

“Do you want to watch something?” Dan asked, after putting the pizza box down the table. 

Phil considered the two things in his hands for a moment, before he looked back down at the table. With a sheepish grin, he picked up Dan’s copy of Frozen. 

“Really, Phil? Frozen?” 

Phil could clearly detect disdain in Dan’s voice, so he huffed and folded his arms over his chest defensively. 

“Well, _you’re_ the one who owns it,” He said, and Dan, who had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t going to win this argument, no matter what he said, snatched the movie playfully out of Phil’s hands and went to put it in, trying to ignore the way his tummy fluttered when Phil gave him satisfied smirk. 

They were hardly half-way through the film and more than half-way through the pizza when Dan heard soft snoring. 

Though there was a very slim chance he would ever admit it, he had been so immersed in the movie, and talking had been so minimal as a result, he hadn’t noticed that Phil had fallen asleep. 

Phil had his cushion held tightly to his body, his face buried in it, glasses askew. His legs were tucked up beneath him, and Dan wondered briefly how someone of Phil’s height could manage to make himself so small. 

With a fond smile, Dan slowly rose from the sofa to turn off the movie, creeping as silently as he could manage so as not to disturb his guest. 

After taking the pizza box into the kitchen, Dan was attempting to make his way quietly past Phil, when he paused. 

Chewing on his lip, Dan rubbed his arm in contemplation, before reaching out and gently removing Phil’s glasses from his face before placing them on the coffee table. Phil shifted a little, his cheek nestling further into the pillow, and it took all of Dan’s self control not to brush the few out-of-place strands of hair from his forehead. 

He gently eased the quilt out from where Phil was partially on top of it and draped it over him, smoothing it down carefully with his palms and hoping that Phil would be all right. 

“Sweet dreams, Phil Lester.”


	4. Drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I'm back, with a new chapter, as promised! Thank you so much for all the comments, and I'm so, so glad you're all enjoying the story! As always, feedback, comments, criticisms, and anything else you can think of are always welcomed! Enjoy!

The blurry, almost surreal light of dawn was a startling but not unfamiliar sight to Dan, who had spent the night existing between states of worried wakedness, restless sleep, and a middle ground of feverish haze.

As soon as he'd gone to bed, it was as though a switch had flipped inside of his brain and he suddenly could not control the ruthless thoughts that plagued him. 

_Phil’s smart,_ he reminded himself over and over, but he couldn't resist thinking that there was something Phil hadn't been completely honest about. 

Something big. 

At 7am when his alarm went off, Dan felt a familiar urge that often accompanied alarm clocks: the urge to cry. 

He didn't cry, however, he simply buried his tired head in his pillows and willed himself to get his ass up, though every fiber of his being screamed in protest. 

Eventually, out of sheer willpower and perhaps the urge to check on Phil, Dan dragged himself out from beneath the covers, grimacing when he caught sight of himself in the mirror; his hair had curled up sometime during the night, probably due to sweat, and he felt distinctly Hobbitish as he tugged a t-shirt on over his head and used his fingers to comb through his hair, although it did little to nothing. 

As he made his way down the hallway and into the kitchen, the unmistakable scent of coffee warmed his senses. When he entered, Phil stood before Dan’s coffee pot with two of Dan’s mugs sitting on the faux-granite countertop before him. He hummed a cheery little tune as he prepared the two cups of coffee, and Dan, in his attempt not to startle him, cleared his throat a little bit. 

“Good morning,” He said, and Phil turned his head and hummed in greeting. 

“Good morning to you,” He said, before moving to hand Dan one of the cups, and Dan welcomed the warmth that seeped into his hands and, seemingly, into his bones from the steaming mug. 

They sat the little table in the kitchen and discussed nothing in particular, and Dan was beginning to think that one of the reasons Phil was so wonderful was because he could talk about nothing in particular and still be fascinating. 

It wasn't just the what he said either, but the way he said it. How his voice sounded the way clouds looked, and that he paused briefly before he spoke, as though he actually took the time to plan out his words, rehearse and recite them mentally, before verbalizing them. 

Dan wondered if everybody was this way and he was just now beginning to see it, or if Phil was special. 

“-and tonight, I’ll go home and get my things. If he won't clear out, I will,” Phil was saying, his thumbs rubbing against the ceramic of his mug, cooler now but still warm enough that he sought warmth from it. “I have the money for a hotel room...at least for a while.” 

“And then?” Dan asked, although there were already several objections forming in his mind. 

“Well...I'm not sure,” Phil said, after taking a deep breath. “I guess I...I have to keep going.” 

There was a stint of quiet. 

Keep going? Could he possibly have been more vague? 

_Where_ was he going? _How_ would he get there? _With whom?_

“You're doing it again,” Phil said, effectively cutting off Dan’s wildly concerned inner monologue. 

“Doing what again?” Dan asked, almost defensively, although any defense that might have existed crumbled immediately when the corner of Phil’s mouth lifted in _the smile_. 

“Looking at me in a way that makes it impossible for me to tell what you're thinking,” He said, and Dan looked down at mug in his hands. 

_I’m glad you don't know what I'm thinking._

That evening after work, as Louise was assisting Phil in placing a new bandage over a particularly deep thorn-prick wound between his thumb and pointer finger, Dan couldn’t help but be concerned. 

All day, the idea of Phil going back to his house and having to confront Julian made his stomach roll like a thunderstorm. He had abandoned the notion that it wasn't his business; it _was_ his business because all at once, Dan had come to the startling conclusion that even after such an utterly brief period of time, Phil meant something to him. 

There was a sort of glow about Phil, and it was magnetic. Dan wasn't the only one who felt it, either; customers were drawn to him and even the snappiest, most impatient people were put at ease by Phil’s effortless charisma. 

For some reason, this undeniable pleasantness caused a distinct urge to protect Phil to inhabit Dan, and Dan thought it might be similar to the way Phil nourished and tended to his flowers. The world, it seemed, had a notable lack of genuine, beautiful things. 

And like the flowers, Phil was a genuine, beautiful thing. 

Twisting the broom handle between his hands, Dan chewed at his bottom lip and, in a much-too-quickly sort of way, he said “PhilIwanttogowithyou.” 

“What?” Phil blinked. 

“Iwanttogowithyou.” 

“You want to...go with me? Go with me where?” 

“To...to get your...uh-I guess, to go and get your things. From your home,” Dan said, feeling embarrassed, although he wasn't sure why. 

Louise’s eyes flitted between the two boys, one gazing thoughtfully at the other, who was defending his title as Champion of Avoiding Eye Contact. 

She was a clever girl, Louise, and she had noted that Phil was wearing the same outfit as the day before almost as soon as she came in to work. Not only that, but there was something vaguely Dan about the way Phil smelled, though she ruled the possibility of them having had sex out completely. Phil wasn't the sort to use anybody as a rebound; he cared too much, became too emotionally invested in people for a one night-stand. 

She found no physical evidence of a steamy night either; no hickeys, no helpless smirks or bashful grins. In short, Louise had easily concluded that Dan had offered Phil shelter for the night, and that put Dan rather high up on her list. 

“You don't need to do that, Dan. I can do it on my own,” Phil said, his tone gentle in a way that masked his surprise well. 

“But I want to.” Dan said, thinking that if he couldn't stop Phil from going (which is what he wanted to do, although he knew that Phil was entitled to do as he pleased and also he needed his belongings), he could at least accompany him for emotional support. 

“Dan…” He said gently, flexing his hand to relieve the pinching of the sticky Band-Aid on his skin. 

Phil knew by now that there really was no sense in arguing; Dan was stubborn, and Phil knew that in this case, he wasn't going to accept _no_ as an answer. 

It wasn't unwanted, though. There was something to be said for a young man who gave friends a safe, warm place to sleep when they had none, after all. 

“Thank you.” 

After closing the doors for the evening, Louise, Dan, and Phil stood together on the pavement. 

There was a mild, pleasant coolness about the air that encompassed the promise of the coming autumn, and the sky was a soft, dying blue. 

“Good luck,” Louise whispered to Phil, squeezing both of his hands comfortingly before pulling him into a hug. 

Phil relaxed into the familiar embrace; he had known Louise for many years, was even the Godfather of her child, and loved her as though they were family, which was with all his might. He had hired her the day What’s Up, Buttercup? opened, sure that she would make a fine manager and over the moon to have her around. 

She was smart, Louise, and always good for a laugh, but she also knew how to treat serious matters gently. 

All in all, she was the best friend Phil could ever ask for. 

“Thanks, Lou,” He replied, before willing himself from her embrace. 

Louise then turned to Dan and they shared a knowing look; in this instance, it was his responsibility to stand by Phil, whom, they both knew, was perfectly capable to taking care of himself, but was currently rather vulnerable. 

Especially to Julian. 

Dan had never met the guy, obviously, but it had hardly been a full 24 hours since he heard Phil slam his phone into the counter and sob openly, devastated. 

Who knew what was going to happen? 

Dan gave Louise a slight nod behind Phil’s back. Phil happened to be busy staring at the sky. 

“Periwinkle,” He murmured, in reference to the sky’s watercolored hue. “Like the flower.” 

He took a deep breath, as though he were preparing to run a marathon, and after giving Louise a precious smile, promising to fill her in on anything that happened in the morning, nodded his head towards Dan, who followed after him as he took off at a steady gait. 

As it turned out, the walk to Phil’s apartment took hardly over fifteen minutes. The entire way was characterized by animated talking on Phil’s part, and a lot of wondering on Dan’s. 

Was Phil able to put up such a convincing facade that any indication of nervousness was virtually undetectable? Or did he truly feel nothing at all? Perhaps it hadn't hit him yet, or else it had hit him with such furiousness the previous day that he was essentially numb to it now. 

Dan, in his 22 years, had only ever experienced one real breakup towards the summation of his high school career, and it had rendered him essentially useless for several days, which were dotted with random outbursts of crying into his pillows and a rather copious amount of consumed pizza. 

By that standard, Phil was taking it like a champ. 

The building was as unassuming as any, looking rather like every other complex in London. 

“Hullo, Liza!” Phil chimed as the pair entered the building, addressing a middle-aged woman with dark skin and eyes behind a wooden desk. Although she looked rather serious, she acknowledged Phil with a nod of her head and a brief smile, convincing Dan even more that Phil possessed some sort of magical ability that made it impossible to be anything but joyous in his presence. 

There was a vase of flowers sitting to the right of the computer on the desk, and Dan instantly recognized the bouquet as the one Phil had been arranging on Dan’s first day at the shop, at once identifying the yellow tulips, one of which resided in the tall glass of water on his bedside table. 

Still sticking close to Phil, Dan jogged up the steps in tow, and he couldn't help but note that Phil had stopped speaking altogether now. They ascended three flights of stairs before Phil veered off of the third landing and into a corridor on the right, leading Dan right to the very end of it. 

The door was painted dark green, and a little etched plaque identified it as apartment 21-F. Phil had fished his keys from his pocket, though he seemed to be stuck now, key poised in the air, halfway to unlocking the door. 

“I’ll go in with you,” Dan said gently, unable to ignore the jingling of the other keys on the ring that indicated Phil’s hand was trembling slightly. He reached out tentatively and rested a hand on Phil’s shoulder, and he even pressed his fingertips into the soft cotton of Phil’s shirt lightly in reassurance. 

This seemed to be enough to give Phil the courage to unlock the door, albeit rather slowly, and push it open, causing a flood of light to escape into the dimmer hallway, a clear indication that someone was home. 

Dan heard Phil inhale deeply through his nose and, possibly because he knew his bravery was spindly and wouldn't hold out forever, he didn't hesitate to cross the threshold. 

Dan, however, did hesitate; this wasn't his home. In fact, he'd never been to this place in his life. However, his promise to Louise and his own resolve, fueled by his determination to protect Phil, pushed him into the unfamiliar apartment. 

The room, which he assumed was the lounge, reflected Phil’s personality to a tee. There were at least six different plants, from large, leafy things sitting on the floor in pots, to tiny cacti perched on a tall white bookshelf, and a long blue sofa with yellow throw pillows. 

Phil was absolutely quiet and still, perhaps taking in his home and feeling homesick for it already. Without taking off his shoes, Phil crossed the room and peered into an adjacent hallway, before he looked over his shoulder at Dan. 

“Are you okay staying in here, Dan?” When Dan nodded, he continued. “Feel free to sit down, or...or there's food in the kitchen if you're hungry,” He said, giving Dan an easy smile before slipping off down the hall. 

Feeling uneasy, Dan lowered himself onto the edge of the sofa, his palms running over the soft fabric over and over again in a circle. He can hear voices, but he's polite enough not to eavesdrop; whatever they (as in Phil and, he assumed, Julian) were discussing was very private and personal. 

After a moment of gazing around this new environment, he stood and made his way over to the bookshelf to examine its contents with polite interest. 

There were several boxsets, all of them full volumes of different animes, many of which Dan watched himself, and an impressive collection of Disney movies, along with several well-kept books and frames containing photos. 

There was one, clearly taken by Phil, who was holding the camera at arm's length, and a man with wavy blond hair, who Dan could only assume was Julian, was kissing his cheek. 

It didn't register with Dan that there was no glass in the frame, save a few jagged shards sticking out around the edges of the photo, but if it had, perhaps what happened next wouldn't have been quite so startling. 

All at once, Dan was crouching down to view the other pictures on lower shelves, particularly intrigued by one featuring a happy-looking border collie, when the sound of something breaking almost caused him to fall over. 

Heart in his throat, Dan rose to his feet and stood stock still, straining his ears and waiting for another noise. 

For a moment, there was nothing, and then a dull thump that reverberated through the walls and a raised, gruff voice broke the silence. 

Before Dan could stop himself, he was halfway down the hallway, his eyes snapping from one room to the next, but only one, it seemed, was occupied. 

He was about to barge in, when he forced himself to pause and assess. Thrusting himself into the situation, particularly when he wasn't completely sure what was happening, wouldn't benefit anybody. 

He steeled his nerves enough to peer through the space that the cracked door provided him. Barely in sight, a man, the same man from the photo, Julian, was speaking in a gravelly, quiet voice, his lips right next to Phil’s ear. 

Of course, the only reason he was so close to Phil was because he had Phil pinned against the wall by his throat. 

Phil was mostly blocked from his view, but Dan could see his pale hands curled into fists at his sides and part of his face, which was turned away from Julian, eyes squeezed shut. He was struggling a little, and Dan wondered if it was because he was trying to get away or if Julian was cutting off his air supply. 

Dan felt sick and helpless, sure now that the thud he'd heard had been the sound of Phil being thrown into the wall, and who knows what other damage had been inflicted? 

What was he going to do? He could call the police, but who knows how long it would take them to arrive? Besides, he wouldn't be able to give them clear instructions to get there, and he didn't know the address at all. 

His mind was racing, and he was surely wasting time, but he needed to come up with a plan somehow. 

_I was right_ , he thought, suddenly furious with himself. The bruises on Phil’s arm- that was no accident. 

He had known, felt in his bones, that there was something, part of the story, Phil had been withholding and now he knew. Dan damned himself for not trusting his instinct and for letting Phil come here so soon after he'd left, knowing there would be consequences. 

For one reason or another, his mind conjured up the image of Phil curled up in his sleep, and Dan wondered if he slept that way as a defense mechanism. 

_I should have asked. I should have asked! How could I be so stupid? I-_

His inner monologue of beration was abruptly halted by a repeat of the loud blow, and this time, his inhibitions were numbed by rage. 

_No time to make a plan now, Howell._

Dan shoved the door open. 

It banged against the wall, catching the attention of both Phil and Julian, who, looking shocked and furious but not loosening his grip on Phil, opened his mouth to speak. 

His speech, however, was effectively interrupted by Dan’s fist colliding with his jaw. 

Now, Dan was _not_ the violent type in any sense. 

He knew nothing of fighting, had never physically harmed another person before in his life, not truly, anyways. The way his whole hand throbbed from the impact was proof of this, and it was only by the grace of some mystical force that Julian was stunned momentarily, or else Dan would be at his mercy, which he clearly lacked. 

Phil, in this brief respite, was able to shove him away and duck beneath his arm, one hand moving to touch his neck. 

It was only now that the smell of alcohol was reaching Dan’s nose, and the shards of broken vase and the dark stain on the carpet explained the smashing noise that had originally alerted Dan to the situation. 

“Don't you _fucking_ dare,” Julian growled, seeming to have forgotten Dan, even though he'd just clocked him in the face, in hot pursuit of Phil, who was scrambling to shove clothes into a bag with trembling hands. Dan knew that he couldn’t risk hitting Julian again; his hand was already destined to bruise, and another punch might even result in a fracture or a break, rendering him essentially useless. 

_He’s drunk_ , Dan realized, as he watched Julian stumble to one side as he tried to round the end of the bed. 

As soon as the thought occurred to him, he reached out and gave the inebriated man a hard shove in the direction opposite Phil, causing him to crash to the ground. 

“Go, Phil, go, _go_!” Dan urged, eyeing Julian nervously as he growled, trying to struggle to his feet, but decelerated greatly by his intoxicated stupor. 

Phil was absolutely frenzied, his hands moving far too slow and his brain racing almost beyond comprehension. Dan’s agitated urgency kicked him into gear, and he managed to stumble over his own two feet and out of the bedroom, 

_“Phil!”_ Howled Julian’s slurred speech, and Phil felt his heart hammering against his ribs. Dan was right on his heels, slamming the door shut for good measure. 

Dan, attempting to usher Phil towards the door, gave a loud groan when Phil stopped, looking around blankly. 

“Phil,” Dan said, as gently as he could muster over Julian’s loud, infuriated cursing. “Come on. You’ve got to go.” 

After a moment, Phil seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had fallen into, and, as an afterthought, grabbed one of the tiny cacti from the bookshelf, and without looking back, bolted out the door. 

_Oh, Phil…_


	5. Keys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Chapter 5! This kinda feels like a milestone, doesn't it? I think this chapter may be a bit shorter than the others, but it's mostly backstory and relationship development. Chapter 6 will be more about progressing the plot, I promise! Please tell me what you think of the story so far, I absolutely adore getting your feedback! Thank you!

Dan couldn’t tear his eyes away from Phil- or rather, all of Phil’s broken pieces as he lay curled into a tight ball on his sofa, his entire form trembling from the force of his heart-wrenching sobs.

After fleeing from Julian, they had made it all the way onto the street and halfway back to Dan’s apartment (in a cab that Dan didn’t mind paying for; he truly didn’t have it in him to make Phil walk to the tube station), before Phil began to cry. 

They weren't the same tears of heartbreak from before. 

These were the cries of someone who was frightened, someone who had kept a secret for far too long. 

These tears belonged to a person who was used to covering ugly bruises with bright colors, the tears of someone caught in a cycle of love, tenderness, and violence. 

Dan had been right about one thing; Phil was very much like a flower, beautiful and with the simple goal of bringing glimmers of happiness into a world where such things were too few and far between. 

Now, it seemed, all of Phil’s petals had been plucked away, that he had been yanked out of the ground carelessly, tearing his roots and breaking his stem. 

Dan wanted to help, but what could he say? 

Nothing. 

The answer was that there was nothing Dan could say that would in any way change what had happened. 

What had been happening. 

That was the bit that made Dan’s heart feel like it was pumping ice water through his veins instead of blood. 

Phil and Julian had been together for six years. Had this been going on all along? Or was it a new development? 

At any rate, Dan got the horrific sense that if he hadn't been there to see it with his own eyes, nobody would have ever suspected that the boy with the night sky in his hair and bluebells in his eyes was hiding bruises and tears with smiles and gentle, loving hands. 

_That's what I need._ Dan thought, as he gazed mournfully down at Phil. _Gentle hands to brush away tears._

Just as this thought occurs, Dan finds himself reaching out with one hand and gently, gently settling his palm across Phil’s back. 

Even through his trembling, Dan can feel Phil jump at the unexpected contact. 

Dan hummed in a soft, comforting way, his thumb stroking across Phil’s shoulder blades slowly. 

“You're safe here. You'll be okay. I promise…” 

Phil remained inconsolable for nearly an hour, but Dan didn't mind. He sat right beside him, feeling vaguely like a loyal puppy dog, absolutely quiet but hoping Phil could feel the unabridged support he was trying to convey. 

When Phil stopped shaking quite so much and his sobs reduced to vague whimpers, he lifted his tear-stained face from where it had been buried in his knees. 

He gazed at Dan for a while, before he took Dan gently by the shoulders and pulled him into his arms, nestling his head into Dan’s shoulder. 

Dan felt himself blushing, and couldn't help but smile; it seemed that this, these fortuitous embraces, were a habit of Phil’s. 

Not that Dan minded. 

Wrapping his arms around Phil, Dan noticed how perfectly his arm lay in the curve of Phil’s back, how natural it felt to rest his cheek atop Phil’s head. 

_No_ , he reprimanded, because how could he be thinking of himself when Phil seemed so lost? 

He opened his eyes, trying to banish the warmth that seeped into his body, to ignore the way Phil’s hands curled against his back. 

To distract himself, he wondered how his life had managed to take such a drastic turn. 

On Monday, he had been nothing more than a college dropout, up to his neck in bills, and desperately searching for employment. 

Today, Thursday, he had fallen head-over-heels for his boss, who had already spent the night in his flat, and was currently in refuge from a horrific, abusive relationship. 

Dan had never believed in things like fate or destiny. 

Nothing, he thought, was ever serendipitous, but calculated and planned so that humans could do what they had to in order to keep existing for no other reason than to exist. 

Now, though, he thought he may be wrong. 

Phil sniffled, before he very suddenly detached himself from Dan, looking almost guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” He said, his voice thick with emotion and regret, his hands coming up to scrub impatiently at the itching caused by his drying tears. “You...don’t deserve to have been dragged into this...this madness. It’s my storm to weather...and I shouldn’t have...shouldn’t have…” 

Dan put a hand up to quiet Phil. “Phil...you didn’t really do anything, did you? I...I dunno, I wanted to be there with you. I offered. And I’m glad I did, anyways,” he said, giving Phil a cautious look. 

“I would have been okay,” Phil said, with a rueful smile remnant of the one he had given Dan the day before, in their corner of a little cafe with a dorky name. 

_Could that really only have been yesterday?_ Dan wondered, but then stopped wondering, because attempting to condense all of the events of the past few days into one measly thought made him feel dizzy. 

Once he had cleared his brain, another thought occurred to him, the same one that made his chest ache. 

“Phil,” he said slowly, as Phil pulled his knees into his chest and rested his chin on them, looking, once again, as though he’d been through the wringer. “How long has he been- I mean, how long…” 

“A while,” Phil said quietly, his tone flat. “At least a year now. Maybe a year and a half.” 

“And you didn’t tell anybody?” Dan asked, dumbfounded. “Why?” 

Phil was silent. Dan felt immediate remorse, because Phil’s seawater eyes were filling up again. 

After a moment, he spoke. 

“We were...perfect. We were _supposed_ to be together, you know? Julian and Phil. That’s who we were. All of our friends from Uni- that’s where we met- they said “Oh, we always knew you’d date!” and “I’ve never met two people more perfect for eachother!”...he was part of my identity. We’d been together so long...by the time he started to...to drink...that I wasn’t sure who I was without him. It isn’t right, I know,” He said, catching the concerned looked Dan was giving him. “But I'd forgotten how to be without him. “But...when we graduated Uni and we got our own place, well...that's when he started to drink. It wasn't a problem at first, just a casual beer here or a glass of wine there, nothing out of the ordinary. I hardly even noticed when it began to get heavier and heavier, until one night,” 

Phil was speaking rather quickly, as though he were a broken tap and his words were water. It seemed like he was afraid that if he halted his speech for even a moment, he would lose the courage to ever speak again. 

“The shop had only been in business for a few weeks, but it was booming- it was right before Valentine’s Day of last year, and we had dozens and dozens of customers, and we kept the shop open a little longer that night...just an hour or two…” Phil’s voice was beginning to tremble, and the tears that had welled up in his eyes were on the verge of spilling over. He sounded as though he were pleading with Dan, begging to be believed and Dan felt a wave of dismay wash over him. 

His voice hardly above a whisper now, Phil continued. “When I got home, he was waiting. He was angry...and he was drunk. Accused me of cheating,” He gave a humorless laugh. “I tried to tell him...tried to tell him, even said he could call Louise and ask her...he didn't believe me…” 

At this point, the tears were inevitable. Phil’s pale fingers trembled as he picked at his hands, and Dan suddenly understood why they were always covered in Band-Aids. 

It wasn't just the thorns from the roses, but Phil’s own personal thorns that made him bleed. 

“The bruises...they were easy to cover. It was winter...the sleeves…” 

Dan closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the injustice of it all. 

Phil was the single kindest person he had ever had the pleasure of existing alongside of. He was bright, as though his very being were constructed of stardust and moonbeams. That was something that didn't deserve to be eclipsed by nonsensical, drunken violence. 

“Phil…” Dan said, and, in a surplus of bravery born from his fierce protectiveness, he took one of Phil’s hands between his own, taken aback by how cold the hand was. “You're going to be okay now, you know.” 

Phil’s fingers curled against Dan’s palm, reflexively seeking the warmth, and he gazed at Dan from behind his glasses with recognizable uncertainty. 

Desperate to at least assuage Phil’s anxieties for the time being, Dan sprung to his feet, intending to do the only thing he really knew how to do in order to make Phil feel okay. 

“Come on,” he said, nodding his head towards his bedroom. 

Phil looked hesitant, but Dan gave him a smile that reminded him of gingerbread cookies and hot cocoa, which were two things he couldn't resist, so he slowly stood up, limbs heavy with fatigue. 

In his room, Dan sat down on a bench before an old sienna-colored piano, scooting over to one side and patting the space beside him. 

Phil, who had his arms wrapped tightly around himself, as though he were holding himself together, was busy taking in the atmosphere of Dan’s bedroom, particularly intrigued by the fairy lights strung along the bed frame. 

He wandered over to the piano and gingerly sat down. 

The bench was so small that their thighs were pressed snugly together, and Dan couldn't help the way his breath caught momentarily in his throat. 

“Whoever owned the place before me...they just left it,” he explained, his fingers settling over the keys. 

They drummed softly against the worn ivory, contemplative, before they naturally picked out the tune of Moonlight Sonata, something familiar and sweet. 

A tide of cool relaxation, like an autumn breeze or a handful of snowflakes, flooded Dan’s veins as he played, his hands moving by memory, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. 

The music wrapped around his being, swathed him in the sensation of being light as a feather and he felt his very spirit lift up as the notes became chords and the chords wove together in song. 

Phil sat beside him, enchanted. 

Dan’s fingers glided elegantly across the keys, never hesitating in their delicate dance, each note coalescing beautifully with those surrounding it to create a painting of sound, a poem without words. 

The four minutes occupied by the song were spent in an enraptured state, creating a bubble of solitude that Dan had never shared with anybody. 

At least, until now. 

This, his safe haven, the place where he understood the concept of existing simply to enjoy the sentiment of existence, had been a private place, a secret hideout. Phil’s actuality wasn't intrusive; it was, if anything, a comfort to have someone warm and real sitting too close to him on the old mahogany bench. 

When the song ended and the last of the notes dissipated in the air, a curious thing happened. 

Usually, when the music faded, the feeling of otherworldliness accompanied it, but Dan was still feeling as though he were perched on a cloud, even in the ensuing silence. 

“Wow,” Phil breathed, the dull ache in his chest absconded by the wonderment he felt towards Dan, who, admittedly, appeared rather awkward and even a bit graceless at times, and the beauty of the lingering song. 

Dan smiled, his cheeks flustering because Phil was gazing- not just looking, but _gazing_ \- at him in a way he was certain nobody ever had before. 

“How long have you been…?” Phil asked, bringing up one hand to run his fingertips along the length of the keys. 

“I taught myself when I was 16,” Dan replied, his eyes following Phil’s fingers as they moved. “Out of boredom, probably.” 

Dan forced himself to watch Phil explore the piano with his hands, which moved from the keys to the top to stoke the soft, aged wood, and ignored the finger-shaped bruises blossoming against the pallid skin of his neck. 

“It was...beautiful, Dan. Truly,” Phil said, turning his attention back to Dan’s face. “When you said yesterday, in the shop, that it was nice to see someone care so much about what they did...I know what you meant now.” 

Dan grinned, the little glimmer of validation provided by Phil’s proclamation shimmering in his eyes. 

“I can teach you- watch,” Dan said, before tapping out the tune of Mary Had A Little Lamb. Phil trained his eyes on Dan’s hands again, and he couldn't help noticing how _pretty_ they were. 

His fingers were long and his wrists slender, with almost inconceivable veins spidering up the backs of them. His palms were faintly flushed, too. 

Phil had always thought you could tell a lot about a person by their hands. 

“Alright, now you,” Dan was saying, and Phil looked down at the piano before placing a tentative hand on it. He was going to play, when he came to the suddenly conclusion that he didn't want to disgrace the lovely instrument with his severe inexperience. 

“I can't,” He decided, before retracting his hand and shaking his head in earnest. 

“You can,” Dan replied, to which Phil shook his head again. 

“I’ll only embarrass myself.” Phil insisted, poking his lower lip out for emphasis. 

“You won't! Here…” Dan said, standing up and stepping over the bench. He stood behind Phil and, after situating Phil’s hand on the keys for him, placed his own hand on top and pressed down gingerly on Phil’s fingers. 

With Dan’s cozy presence surrounding him like a cocoon, Phil felt an unexpected sense of security. 

Just like Dan promised. 

He looked up at Dan, whose eyes seemed to be trained solely on the piano as his warm fingers enveloped Phil’s, but he could feel Phil’s gaze, and he couldn't resist smiling. 

“There! Now, you try,” he said, stepping back and giving Phil his most encouraging nod. Phil, with Dan’s touch still lingering on his skin, took a deep breath. 

“Okay.” 

They sat together at the piano, and as Phil demonstrated his severe lack of rhythm and Dan gave a disgruntled groan every time Phil forgot which key was next, and by the time 45 minutes had come and gone, Dan was laughing so hard that there were tears in his eyes and Phil had laid his head on the piano in defeat. 

“You...you absolute _spork,_ ” Dan said, after the fifteenth time trying to guide Phil through Mary Had A Little Lamb, they gave up. “It’s 20 notes!” 

“Well, Dan, we weren’t all born with the fingers of an angel,” Phil huffed, folding his arms over his chest and _trying_ to glare at Dan, though he failed miserably because he started to laugh. 

Dan’s heart was soaring because it seemed as though, even if only for a moment, Phil had removed himself from despair. 

Dan gave Phil a sneaky smirk. 

“D’you know what else they’re good for?” He asked casually, raising his fingers and wiggling them in the air. 

“What?” Phil asked, tipping his head curiously, before he caught Dan’s drift, his round eyes widening, and he shook his head, already inching away from Dan. “No.” 

“No what, Phil?” Dan asked offhandedly, though the gleam in his eye was telltale, along with the way he continued to close the gap Phil was trying to create between them. 

In the blink of an eye, Phil fled from the bench and tried to find a safe haven by hiding behind Dan’s bed, but Dan was in hot pursuit. 

With the bed between them, the two locked eyes, Dan’s full of mischief and Phil’s full of adrenaline that he was attempting to mask with terror. 

“You’re stuck,” Dan sing-songed, and Phil looked around, bewildered, before attempting to make a break for it by running past Dan, aiming for the door. 

He was far too slow, however, and Dan caught him easily around the waist before ever-so-gently pushing him backwards onto the bed. 

Without hesitation, Dan began to tickle Phil, who was giggling wildly before Dan had ever touched him. When his hands made contact with Phil’s sides, he absolutely burst out laughing. 

The sound was clear and bright, like a line of bells or a windchimes, and Dan felt the same infiniteness he felt when he made music. 

Phil lay there in Dan’s sheets, his face flushed and his eyes squeezed shut, his hands scrabbling to push Dan away, and although he usually detested being the victim of a tickle attack, he found himself not trying very hard at all to escape. 

Dan reveled in the joy on Phil’s face, even if it was helpless joy, the way his tongue poked out from between his teeth and how his nose crinkled up. When he realized that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch Dan’s hands, he simply covered his face in defeat. 

It wasn’t until Phil was snorting between his laughter that Dan eased up, folding his arms over his chest and grinning down at the helpless, giggling mess below him. 

“You’re horrible,” Phil said, after regaining his composure and sitting up, sticking his tongue out at Dan, who laughed. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” He chuckled, before he sat down beside Phil, looking smug. 

“Just you wait,” Phil huffed, fixing his fringe indignantly. “I’ll get you back.” 

Snorting, Dan shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I am not ticklish.” 

“Well, everyone says that, you see. But I believe firmly in the idea that everyone is ticklish somewhere.” 

“Well, I’m the exception to your rule, then.” Dan grinned, before giving Phil one last poke in the side, resulting in a satisfying squeak. 

He noticed that the light in Phil’s face was slowly fading away again. He hadn’t expected to vanish Phil’s anguish completely, but he sure wished he could. 

Dan’s strayed to the clock. “Wow...nearly midnight already,” he said, but he could tell that Phil was ready to escape this day and retreat into a world of dreams. 

“I guess I’d better get go-” Phil began, as he got to his feet, but was cut short by the sight of Dan rolling his eyes. 

“As if.” 

Phil smiled helplessly; he had, secretly, been hoping that Dan would allow him to stay one more night. 

He wasn’t sure he’d make it alone. 

Around fifteen minutes later, Dan entered the lounge after putting on his own pajamas, with a second set in his arms in case Phil hadn’t had the chance to grab any of his own. He was greeted by the sight of Phil curled up in his unbelievably little ball, swathed in the quilt, sound asleep with the lights still on. 

Dan laughed, moving across the room to flick off the lights. In the darkness, he felt sleepiness settling over him, too, like dew on morning grass. 

“Tomorrow will be a better day, Phil. I promise.” Dan murmured as he made his way quietly back towards the hallway to his bedroom. 

He barely caught the mumbled, sleep-heavy whisper: “I hope so.”


	6. Daisies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! Chapter 6! I'm so sorry that this chapter took so much longer to post than the others! I actually had a completely different chapter written, and I even had it formatted before I realized I didn't like it and rewrote the whole thing! I'm so happy that you guys are still enjoying the story and, as always, comments and critiques are encouraged and welcome! Thanks!

The following few weeks passed in a whirlwind of pastel-colored flower pots, suppressed feelings, and several evenings that consisted solely of Mario Kart and some sort of takeout food.

As the weather grew chillier, Dan and Phil grew closer and closer, resulting in a rather intense but not uncommon stint of inner turmoil to rage on almost constantly inside of Dan. 

There could be no more denying (at least to himself) that he had feelings for Phil. 

_Those_ feelings. 

The feelings that made Dan’s entire body feel warm, that caused the daydreams he often found himself having, the ones that increased his heart rate at the mere idea of even the silliest things, like holding Phil’s hand or kissing his cheek. 

But he _couldn’t_. 

He felt disgusted with himself for even imagining the scenario; Phil was hardly out of an abusive, damaging relationship, evident by the just-fading bruises and the fact that Dan had found him crying in the utility room at the shop on three separate occasions. 

How could he be thinking about his own feelings when Phil was still trying to piece himself back together? 

Still, in the evenings when Phil was sat beside him on his sofa, leaning slightly towards the television with a Wii controller between his hands, his eyes narrowed in concentration, Dan couldn't help but feel a sense of rightness about the whole situation. 

Phil had found himself a hotel room only twenty minutes away from the shop that offered long-term residence, and in his spare time not spent with Dan, he was scouring what seemed like the whole of London to find a permanent living space. 

He'd seen plenty of apartments, but none of them _felt_ like home. 

Of course, a portion of the discord Phil was experiencing was due to the fact that he had never once lived alone. He'd gone from living at home to living in a dorm, and then he had moved in with Julian straight out of uni. 

Every flat he toured felt too big. Too empty. 

Obviously, Dan, ever the overthinker and more often than not, the first to play out entire scenarios in his mind with the worst possible outcomes in consideration, had been torn between asking Phil to move in with him and feeling as though that were suggestive, perhaps even a little creepy, ever since that very first evening Phil had spent with him. 

Without a doubt, he _wanted_ Phil to live with him. 

Hell, if he had the choice, he would rarely spend time outside of Phil’s company, but the fear of being overwhelming, of annoying Phil or driving him away by behaving in a clingy or embarrassing manner, effectively restrained him from asking. 

One day in early October, when the mornings were cool and damp but the afternoons were pleasantly warm, when the shop was experiencing the lull in business that occurred every day around lunchtime, Phil sat behind the counter, elbows braced against it, his head cradled in one hand while the other held his cell phone to his ear. 

“Yes, 5:30 sounds lovely. Can I get the address one more time, please? Perfect! Yes, alright, my name is Phillip. I’ll see you this evening, ma’am. Goodbye.” 

As soon as the phone call was over, Phil’s smile receded and he rested his forehead against the countertop, emitting a noise of exasperation. 

“I think I could probably go the rest of my life without ever booking another apartment tour ever again.” he groaned, causing Dan, who was busy clipping the straggling, vine-like leaves of a Golden Pothos plant, to feel the familiar needling in the back of his mind. 

_Ask him._

 _No, don't ask him!_

 _

Just do it, for God’s sake! 

No, nevermind. Don't. 

He's your best friend! 

Your best friend that you've been in love with since the moment you laid eyes on him!

_

This wasn't unusual nowadays; he wasn't crazy by any means, but the logical, controlled part of his brain was constantly at war with the crippling anxiety that plagued him whenever he considered the dilemma before him. 

_You’re just overthinking again._

Dan blinked, and told himself once more. 

_You’re just overthinking again_. 

That's right. He _was_ overthinking this. 

What was so strange about offering a friend a place to live? Just because they'd be living together, that doesn't necessarily mean anything would _happen_ between them! 

Dan was perfectly capable of controlling his emotions, anyways. Why should he allow a silly crush to prevent what was already shaping up to be an lovely friendship? 

“Phil, why don't you move in with me?” 

The question hung in the air for a moment; it wasn't as though Phil didn't practically live with Dan already, although he truly had made an acute effort to limit the number of nights spent in Dan’s flat. It made him feel guilty, to sleep in Dan’s warm home, eat his food, use his shower, but give him nothing in return. 

In reality, Phil couldn't be more wrong; their interests, their senses of humor, nearly every little idiosyncrasy and quirk seemed to align like stars, a beautiful constellation of laughing too loudly at themselves or at one another, intricate discussions late at night about the insignificance of humanity in an edgeless universe, and the curious sensation of always feeling at home, as long as they were together. 

That's precisely what Phil gave to him. 

A home. 

When Phil didn't contribute, Dan went on; the hesitation was enough to make Dan regret his decision, but it was too late to backpedal, so he pressed on. 

“It isn't as if I haven't got room, and we could split the rent and utilities, and-” 

What Dan wanted to say was that he positively adored Phil’s company, that he had never truly had someone like Phil, but he refrained from being too saccharine; after all, doting about how appreciated and wanted Phil made him feel wasn't necessarily beneficial in regards to Dan’s resolution to completely inundate his feelings for the man. 

“...and you're my best friend.” 

Phil had risen from his crumpled, apartment hunting-induced state and was now gazing at Dan, who found himself unable to do anything but look right back. 

“You're my best friend, too,” Phil said, sounding as though he'd just been given a wonderful present on a day that wasn't his birthday. He got to his feet and crossed to Dan, and Dan hardly had enough time to discard the tiny silver pruning scissors he was holding before Phil was flinging himself into his arms. 

“You've to to stop doing that,” Dan said, trying to disguise his breathlessness as playful exasperation. “I could've impaled you just then, you know.” 

“Thank you so much,” Phil murmured, his voice muffled by the fabric of Dan’s shirt, and Dan was suddenly astutely aware of the heat of Phil’s mouth pressed into his shoulder. 

There it was again, that feeling. 

The same feeling that always accompanied Phil’s hugs, the overwhelming warmth that lent Dan the impression that they fit together like puzzle pieces. 

If Dan were smart, he would have detached himself from Phil and expelled the notion from his brain. 

But he couldn't. 

He didn't have the heart to. Phil had spent enough time being pushed away already. 

By the time Louise turned up, carrying two paper bags with their lunch inside, Dan and Phil were huddled together behind the counter, speaking in turn, while Phil’s fingers typed rapid fire on his phone. 

“-already have a perfectly good pan!” 

“Daniel, we’ve been over this! A frying pan and a sauce pan are _not_ the same thing!” 

“I'm not saying they _are_ the same thing, I'm saying they _do_ the same thing!” 

“What's going on here?” Louise asked, putting the bags on the counter before looking back and forth expectantly between the two boys. 

“Danny here seems to be under the impression that there is no need to purchase a frying pan when one already owns a sauce pan,” Phil sniffed, his tone mock-condescending. “Which is not the case.” 

Louise peered at Phil’s phone over shoulder; his notes were open, and it seemed that there was a list in progress, and included in this list were things such as “new mattress”, “wardrobe”, and the most recent addition, the word “frying”, to which she assumed Phil had been meaning to add “pan”. 

“What's this for?” She asked, looking up at Dan, who was still sputtering in his own defense and internally trying to suppress the urge to scream in response to the fact that Phil had just called him “Danny”. 

“We...we’re talking about moving in together, me and Phil.” 

Dan watched Louise’s face brighten, and he quickly looked away, knowing that if he didn’t, he would begin to blush and stammer like a fool, which undoubtedly betrayed his new vow to asphyxiate his silly crush. 

Although Dan had never explicitly disclosed his feelings to Louise, he was certain of the fact that she knew exactly how he felt about Phil. Was he honestly that obvious? 

Dan was, in fact, rather obvious about his affection towards Phil, but it took eyes as keen as Louise’s to truly see it. 

Dan’s entire entity, his whole being, visibly softened in Phil’s company; his eyes grew warmer and his smile became tender, and he was so plainly enamoured that it was almost sickeningly sweet. 

His slightly awkward, apprehensive demeanor dissipated completely, revealing Dan’s truer personality; playful, boisterous, and loud. 

Mercifully, she spared Dan by directing her attention towards Phil. 

“You're right. A frying pan and a sauce pan are not the same thing.” 

“Ha!” Phil cried triumphantly, before he stuck his tongue out at Dan and victoriously typed “pan” into his phone. 

Early in the evening, after an unusually busy afternoon with bunches and bunches of customers (including a bridal party who had turned up to choose flowers for a wedding, which had been particularly exciting for Phil, who adored weddings. He spent at least an hour assisting the head bridesmaid, and helped her settle on a beautiful combination of sweet white daisies and soft pink dahlias), Dan, Phil, and Louise sat in an exhausted bunch on the shop floor, halfheartedly dethorning a new shipment of yellow roses. 

More specifically, Dan and Louise were dethorning a new shipment of yellow roses; Phil was distracted. He twirled the stem of a daisy between his thumb and forefinger, watching the rotation of the perfectly symmetrical petals. There was an unmistakable longing in his eyes. 

Louise glanced up at him. 

She knew precisely what had him looking so gloomy, of course; when Phil failed to contact her the evening he went to gather his things, Louise had gotten the unshakable sense that something was very wrong, especially when her call went to his cheerful voicemail ( _“Hey Buttercup, sorry I missed you! Leave me a message after the ding! Ding!_ ) after both attempts to contact him. 

The following morning, it was clear that Phil was refraining from something. 

What that something was became apparent when, upon being asked how things had gone, he immediately burst into tears. His recountance of the previous night’s events, occurred between lots of shuddering breaths and, for a reason Louise, at the time, didn’t understand, a lot of apologizing. 

It didn’t occur to her until after the fact that the reason Phil was, and always had been, so apologetic was due to the fact that he was accustomed to apologizing for every little thing, desperately attempting to avoid backlash. 

She was appalled at herself for not recognizing the signs earlier; the apologizing, how easily startled he was, the way his arms were always wrapped around his own body, as though he were protecting himself. 

It was true that she had never been fond of Julian; he was a pig, in her opinion. The way he would all but manhandle Phil in front of their friends, which she knew embarrassed Phil significantly, or the way he always referred to her as “sweet cheeks”, she despised it all. 

But Phil loved him. 

He had loved Julian so much, and she couldn’t bear the idea of breaking Phil’s heart by revealing her true feelings towards his boyfriend. 

Indeed, she was repulsed by Julian, but it hadn’t ever crossed her mind that he might be hurting Phil. If it had, she would have wasted no time making Julian wish he had never even come into this world. 

Louise looked at Dan, who was the only one truly absorbed in his work. She gave him a swift nudge with her elbow, startling him to the point of pricking his finger. 

He shot her a look of deep betrayal, his finger finding its way into his mouth. 

She nodded her head towards Phil, giving Dan a pointed look that clearly said “ _Say something to him_ ”. Dan looked back and forth between Phil’s droopy state and Louise, sucking on his lower lip briefly; he scanned his brain for something he could say to Phil that didn’t explicitly say _“Hey, I’m trying to distract you!”_

“Daisies sometimes represent purity, don’t they? Perfect for a wedding, you know. The sanctity of marriage, or whatever.” 

Phil looked up, his head tipping curiously to one side. For a moment, Dan felt a sharp sting of regret; had he said the wrong thing? He found himself attempting to reconcile it at once. 

“You’re brilliant with flowers,” he blurted out. “You always know precisely what sort is needed for any occasion, what colors they should be. It’s sort of amazing to watch. You’re sort of amazing in general, I mean.” 

He couldn’t seem to stop talking, even as his brain begged his mouth to quit saying words. 

_Please stop._

“And I’m glad you’re moving in with me. I’ve never had a best friend before because nobody else had ever cared to be my best friend,” 

_Please shut up. You’re blowing it._

“You’re one of the best people in the world, and I hope that I make you feel as happy as you make me feel, because that’s what you deserve.” 

_Shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up._

Dan finally managed to cut himself off, putting a hand over his mouth and blushing himself into silence. 

Phil was flustered, too, biting on his lower lip to keep from smiling too much. 

He looked down at the flower in his hands one more time before he leaned forwards and used it to tickle Dan’s nose playfully, before carefully snapping the stem and slipping it behind Dan’s ear. 

“Daisies also mean hope.” 

The following day was a Saturday, the only day of the week that the shop was closed. 

Dan woke to the sensation of his phone buzzing beneath his pillow, and he felt around for it without opening his eyes, almost unwilling to slip out of the pleasant dream he was having. 

With a groan, he opened his eyes, squinting into the beam of electronic light that glared from the screen. 

After his eyes adjusted, he read the cluster of texts that had roused him from his slumber: 

Phillip: Gooood morning, Sunshine! 

Phillip: Apartment shopping today? 

Phillip: Actually I’m not giving you a choice because I need someone to help me carry the twelve frying pans I’m gonna buy. 

Phillip: Meet at The Hut in an hour? 

Dan couldn’t help but laugh. He rolled over onto his side, after replying with a quick ‘okay’, and looked at the short-stemmed daisy in the cup beside his bed, where the tulip had been. 

_Daisies also mean hope._ Dan repeated in his mind. _What did Phil mean when he said that? Is he feeling hopeful about the future...because of me?_

Dan yanked his duvet up over his head, and, in the warm, private darkness, granted himself a few precious moments to allow his imagination to run wild. 

In his daydream, it was snowing steadily. Phil’s warm fingers were tangled with his own and they were walking together down the pavement, the crystalline white flakes settling in Phil’s dark hair like stars against a ceaselessly black night. Phil was pointing excitedly to a display window showcasing a tall evergreen decorated with twinkling fairy lights and brightly colored, delicate baubles. A sprig of mistletoe hung above the shop’s entrance, and Dan looked up at it before lowering his eyes bashfully. Phil smiled his heart-melting smile and pulled Dan in by his hands; this close, Dan could see miniature snowflakes clinging to Phil’s eyelashes and the rosy color of his wind-kissed cheeks, could smell the vague scent of lingering coffee and flowers. He brought a hand up to the side of Phil’s face and guided their lips together, feeling Phil’s giggles against his mouth… 

_Time’s up._

Dan shoved his blankets off of his body and sat up, rubbing his palms over his face to bring him back down to Earth, though there was little he could do to fix the pang of longing that echoed through his chest, making him feel, momentarily, a little bit hollow. 

_Get over yourself,_ he thought, nettled that he had allowed himself to slip into a fantasy where everything was perfect, knowing that when he opened his eyes, it wouldn’t be the same. 

After opening the window and sticking his arm outside to discover a chilly, sunny day, Dan chose a pretty plain outfit consisting of a soft white jumper and his singular pair of pants, struggled with his poof of hair for a little while, and was out the door within the next half an hour. 

By the time he was getting off of the tube, he felt significantly better; he had caught a whiff of the autumnal scent of dying leaves and cold air that managed to penetrate the incessant city smog of London if only for a brief moment, and it reminded him of one important thing: Change. 

Essentially everything is temporary, and Dan took comfort in the idea that this notion applied to his fixation on Phil as well. 

As he strolled past What’s Up, Buttercup?, he paused briefly to peer into the front window; it was strange to see it so empty, but Dan did cherish his Saturdays which, more often than not these days, were spent with Phil. 

It struck him that he was going to have to grow accustomed to spending almost every waking moment with Phil, who was soon to be his new roommate. 

Dan had spoken to the landlord over the telephone after arriving home the night before and gotten the okay to put Phil onto the apartment’s lease, which Phil would be required to sign on the day he moved in. 

This deal had solidified the change for Dan, made it real and tangible. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel excited, because he did, and relieved, too, because although he’d only been living on his own for a handful of months, he was finding that being alone wasn’t all that easy. It made any sound scarier and any silence heavier, and Dan missed being comforted by the knowledge that someone else was occupying the same space as he was, even if they weren’t conversing, or even in the same room. 

But he was _nervous_. He had told himself to stop being silly, reminded himself that he already knew Phil quite well, that they were best friends, and there was nothing to be worried about at all. 

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if this sudden, all-the-time togetherness would make it impossible to forget his feelings. 

The familiar warmth, sounds, and smells of the cafe washed over him as soon as he pulled the door open; he was slowly becoming a regular at Java the Hut, implemented by the fact that it was the only coffee shop in the vicinity of What’s Up, Buttercup?, and Phil had an insatiable coffee addiction. This, combined with the fact that PJ, and the second owner, Chris, were both very kind and often gave them discounts for no reason in particular, kept Dan coming back. 

“Hullo, Daniel!” PJ said when Dan wandered up to the register, hands busy placing scones and muffins into little paper bags. 

“Hey, Peej,” Dan grinned, slipping his hands into his pockets and watching PJ work for a moment, before he opened his mouth to order. 

“I need Dan and Phil’s regular, please!” PJ called out, before Dan even had the chance to speak, causing him to smile sheepishly. 

“Sure thing!” replied the voice that belonged to Chris, and it was hardly two or three minutes gone by before there were two to-go cups of hot coffee with Dan’s name scribbled on one, Phil’s on the other, steaming on the counter before him. 

“Anything in particular going on today?” PJ asked, not intrusively, but in his pleasant conversation-making way. 

“Phil and me are going shopping today. He’s moving in with me, and there are some things we need to buy for him.” 

PJ, who had caught wind of the Julian situation from Louise, gave Dan a nod that was only a little solemn, followed by a grin. “You’re good to have taken him in like that.” 

Dan gave a modest shrug; he wasn’t particularly fond of the notion that Phil was being ‘taken in’. It made him sound like a homeless puppy. 

“When he comes in, will you tell him I’m here?” Dan asked, as he slid the money for the coffee onto the counter. 

“Sure thing,” agreed PJ, after giving Dan nearly half of the money back, though he had paid in exact change. Dan shook his head fondly before putting the rest of the money into the tip jar. 

He sat at their usual table in the back of the cafe near the window and gazed out at the world passing him by. He could just text Phil and tell him he had made it, of course, but he wanted it to be a surprise; Phil had a tendency to make fun of Dan for always being just an itty bit late to just about everything that had a set time, but for once, he had shown up first, and he planned to rub it in Phil’s face as much as he possibly could. 

He hadn't beaten Phil by much, apparently, because not five minutes after Dan slid into the left side of the booth and began to blow gently on his drink, he was joined by a slightly wind-swept Phil, who looked equal parts pleased and amazed to find Dan already sitting there. 

“Well, look who’s Mr. Punctuality today!” he exclaimed, taking his cup between his hands, seeking the warmth from it. “It’s freezing out!” 

“You can’t say I’m _always_ behind schedule,” Dan grinned, reaching out to feel the fabric of the blue sweater Phil was swearing skeptically. “You’re wearing a fuzzy jumper?” 

“It’s _freezing_ out!” Phil repeated defensively, wrinkling his nose at Dan in playful offense. “Plus, it’s got penguins on it!” 

Dan merely rolled his eyes. “So, what’s the agenda, Mr. Penguin-Jumper?” 

“I’m glad you asked,” Phil said, pulling his phone from his pocket and opening up the list he had begun the previous day at work. “I ordered a new mattress last night, so we needn’t worry about that…” 

Dan listened to Phil read off the list of things they were meant to buy that day with his chin cupped in his hand, realizing that he could listen to Phil speak for hours and hours, even if he were reciting numbers from the phonebook. 

“...and I was thinking I could treat you to dinner this evening, after we’ve finished the shopping! You know, just to say thank you. For everything.” 

“Phil, you don’t have to-” 

“I know that I don’t have to. But there are a lot of things _you_ didn’t have to do, either.” The _things_ Phil mentioned in this statement needn’t be named; they both knew. With the earnest look in Phil’s eyes, Dan knew he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. 

“Fine. But only because you ate all of my cereal last time you stayed over and didn’t tell me.” 

Ten minutes later, they were walking down the sidewalk together, drinks in hand, going back and forth about the morality of eating cereal without milk (which Dan was avidly against; that, he claimed, was like eating macaroni without the cheese, to which Phil responded that he didn’t like cheese anyway. This confession was swiftly followed by ‘If you look at me like I’m mad, I’m going to bite your nose’, and Dan managed not to look too horrified at this proclaimed abomination of diary-hating madness), and Dan had to fight hard to keep himself from smiling too much. 

_Maybe it isn’t snowing and maybe we aren’t holding hands,_ he thought. _But this isn’t so bad, either._


	7. Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Yay, Chapter 7! I'm not quite sure how I feel about this chapter, so if you have any criticisms please let me know! I hope you do like it, though! Please let me know! Thank you!

“I think my shoulders are broken,” Phil whined, his limbs twinging and aching, arms loaded down with plastic and paper bags that knocked against the walls as both he and Dan struggled up the hellishly lengthy staircase towards their apartment.

“You're the one who insisted on buying two new sets of towels,” Dan pointed out, the joints of his shoulders literally trembling from the weight of the many objects they had purchased. 

“It makes sense! Two people, two sets of towels,” Phil huffed, causing Dan to roll his eyes as they rounded the final corner of the stairwell. He set down the six bags he had clutched in his left hand with a heavy thump, flexing his wrist and fingers momentarily, before fishing his keys out of his pocket and maneuvering the door open. 

He stepped back and let Phil go ahead of him as he gathered up the bags again, groaning as he lifted them from the floor. 

Inside, Phil had settled his bags near the sofa, which he was currently slumped down upon, massaging his hands but positively glowing. 

Dan couldn't help himself. “Welcome home.” 

These simple words caused Phil to brighten up even further, looking up at Dan with eyes that seemed to encompass an entire cloudless day. 

Secondhandedly giddy, Dan dropped the bags he was holding and flopped down beside Phil, raising his arms and gripping the top of the sofa, twisting his hips this way and that to stretch and pop his spine. 

Phil took the opportunity to watch him; there was something about Dan, perhaps it was the way the sleeves of his jumper were a hair too long and covered his palms a little or the two tiny beauty marks on his cheek, that gave him the essence of being very _soft_. 

A little sliver of Dan’s tummy was visible, and Phil, who couldn't resist, reached over and poked him playfully. 

“Hey!” Dan exclaimed, with an _incredibly_ masculine little squeak. Then, his eyes narrowed. “Nope. No. It's not- I-I’m not-” 

It was too late. Phil tackled him back into the arm of the sofa and began tickling his stomach, looking positively delighted with himself. 

“I can't believe you lied to me!” He exclaimed, while Dan made a valiant effort to suppress his laughter, though his attempts were rather futile. 

It was the laughter that Phil absolutely adored; not the subdued, quiet chuckle that Dan adopted in public scenarios, but the boisterous, bubbly giggling that caused crinkles to appear next to Dan’s sparkling, cocoa-colored eyes. 

As it were, Dan was attempting to shout curse words and threats through his laughter, wiggling around in the hopes of an escape, but Phil was straddling him too tightly. 

In a last-ditch attempt to gain liberation, Dan gave Phil a shove backwards, without being too rough, and the sky-eyed boy went toppling. 

Still gasping, Dan scrambled into a sitting position, before he climbed on top of Phil and sat on his legs, grabbing his hands and pinning them down. 

Between the breathlessness and the giggling and the tussling around, it wasn't until Dan looked down at Phil, held captive and beaming bright, his face alight with glee, that his chest began to flutter. 

Suddenly, Phil’s laughter faded away, and it was quiet. The two were left gazing at each other, Dan down at Phil, Phil up at Dan, the only sound the rhythm of their breathing and, Dan was sure, the sound of his wildly pounding heart. 

For a fraction of a second, Dan allowed his gaze to flicker towards Phil’s lips; they were rosy and looked soft, his lower lip slightly chubbier than the upper, his cupid’s bow delicate. 

_I could do it. Kiss him. I could do it just now, in this moment, and change everything forever._

The part of his brain still functioning rationally, the bit that went unaffected by the long day spent with Phil, by the tickling, by the closeness, screamed. 

_Abort! Abort! Abort!_

But the way Phil was gazing up at him was magnetic, and he was helpless to the gravitational pull. 

They couldn't be more than a handful of inches apart now, and Phil, enticed, could smell Dan’s fruity scent. His toes curled in anticipation, but his stomach gave a small twist of hesitation and, could it be, fear? 

_He won’t hurt you_ , Phil thought firmly, because wouldn't it be a lie if he claimed that he hadn't found himself becoming more and more enamored by the sweet, wondrously awkward being whose dark eyes looked down upon him now? 

_Dan is not Julian. He isn't._

Phil didn't think Dan even had it in him to be harmful; he behaved as though everything around him were breakable, therefore his existence was delicate. 

He could feel his own palms dampening with sweat now, and he wondered if this was a result of the nerves or the excitement. Dan was nearer now than ever before, and Phil felt it appropriate now to let his eyes flutter closed, the air between them heavy. 

All of the sudden, he was overwhelmed with terror. 

His heart seized up and Phil felt the urge the rear back, though he was already pressed firmly into the sofa. A whimper of fear that he couldn't swallow slipped beyond his lips, and as soon as Dan heard it, he paused. 

“Dinner!” Phil sputtered, sitting up so fast that he nearly knocked Dan over. “We...We’re going to dinner tonight, I-I just…just remembered.” 

A whirlwind of emotion engulfed Dan: embarrassment, disappointment, regret, and perhaps even a little twinge of hurt. 

Phil couldn't ignore that; he heard the small, wounded edge in Dan’s voice when he spoke. “Oh- Yes, I'd forgotten...too...Sh-Should I...I’m gonna...going to go and…” 

Before Phil could speak, Dan was hurrying down the hallway, and just as he had scrambled to his feet, he heard the lock in Dan’s door click. 

_What have I done?_

It took Dan ten full minutes to recover. 

What had he been thinking, anyways? Had he truly thought he would be able to just kiss Phil with no prerequisite? Did he actually believe Phil wanted to kiss him back? Why had he acted so impulsively? Normally, he'd never behave that way. 

But that was just it, wasn't it? Phil brought that out of him. Dan always felt freer in Phil’s company, his inhibitions less threatening, his whims stronger. That, he thought, may be what he liked most about Phil. 

These thoughts, both berating and contemplative, occurred as he scrubbed his arms and shoulders with lemon-scented body wash, his hair plastered back from his forehead, warm water trickling down his back. 

As humiliated as he was, he couldn't stand Phil up, especially since he had been so adamant before. He hoped Phil wouldn't want to discuss what had happened, though he had a sneaking suspicion that Phil felt just as embarrassed as he did. 

Out of the shower and inside his bedroom, Dan stood, wrapped in a soft blue towel, staring into his open wardrobe. 

Actually, he hadn't forgotten about dinner as he had claimed, but had been contemplating all day, in the back of his mind, what to wear. 

It had been an impulse buy, this particular shirt, and even as he carried it out of the store, he was sure he'd never wear it. The shirt was black (of course), with a row of white buttons that fastened down the middle. It had a collar and long sleeves, like any other regular button up shirt, but the thing that made this shirt unique were the two lanes of transparent black lace that stretched from collar to wrist on each arm, exposing the skin beneath. 

It was edgy, for Dan at least, and even as he was shrugging the shirt on over his naked shoulders and fiddling with the buttons, he was afraid he looked ridiculous. He switched back and forth between tucking the hem into his pants and letting it hang loose, before ultimately deciding that it looked nicer tucked in. 

Dan straightened his hair clumsily (as he wasn't very skilled with the straightener) and found the only pair of white shoes he owned (to match the buttons on his shirt) and by the time he was putting in earrings, he felt a bit better. 

Phil wasn't likely to bring up the kissing incident, probably for fear of embarrassing Dan, and although Dan was frustrated with himself for being unable to resist his own silly urges, he could ignore his own disgust at least long enough to enjoy an evening with his new housemate. 

Dan gave his reflection a final once-over in the full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door, and, with the knowledge that it was literally impossible to avoid Phil forever (seeing as they worked together and, as of today, they were roommates, not to mention best friends), he wandered into the hallway. 

Phil sat in the lounge, his elbows braced against his knees, thumbs tapping diligently at his phone screen. 

Dan tried to avoid thinking that he was frantically communicating with Louise and relaying the details of the almost-kiss, and focused instead on what he wore; a dark blue dress shirt patterned with small black hearts, a pair of washed grey jeans, black sneakers with black laces. He looked as handsome as ever, drawing an audible sigh from Dan that, inadvertently, alerted Phil to his presence. 

Phil stared and Dan squirmed under his gaze, feeling scrutinized. 

“Wow...hey, you look...lovely,” Phil said, and Dan blushed with pleasure. It was a sincere compliment; something about Dan in black lace had spectacular visual appeal. 

“Thanks...you do, too.” Dan replied, dimples on full display as Phil rose to his feet, slipping his phone into his back pocket and brushing his palms against his jeans. 

“Ready then?” He asked, and Dan nodded, though Phil couldn't help but notice he still seemed a bit tense in the shoulders. “Well, on we go.” 

The daylight was already but a faded memory, the last hints lingering along the rim of the horizon in a soft shade of orange that reminded Dan of sherbet. 

It was quiet between he and Phil, but not, as he had feared, awkwardly so. 

“I like London, but sometimes I wish I could see the stars,” he said aloud. “You know. Light pollution and such.” 

Phil gave a hum of agreement. “I miss them sometimes. I could always see them at home.” 

Dan knew that Phil hailed from the North. He knew that he had one brother, both parents, several hamsters, a rabbit, and a healthy relationship with all of them. Often, he lured Phil into telling him stories about his homelife and his family, feeling a strange combination of jealousy and fuzzy warmth. When Phil questioned him, he’d managed to circumvent the whole ‘homophobic father kicking him out of the house at 18’ debacle, and made a valiant effort to paint his childhood as rosy as he possibly could. 

“So could I,” Dan replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a slight grin. “I had this ginormous book with all the constellations in it. I tried to learn them all, but there are so many.” 

Phil snorted. “Nerd.” 

Dan sputtered. “Wha-! I- Me?! You're a nerd! _You_ are a nerd! With your plants and your...your...cactuses!” 

“Whatever, Space Boy.” Phil teased, giving Dan a playful shove. 

Without a retort, Dan huffed at Phil and poked out his tongue, folding his arms over his chest and making a point to walk _in front_ of Phil as opposed to beside him. 

He could hear Phil giggling behind him, then the sound of sneakers tapping the pavement in a slight jog to keep up. 

“You can't ignore me! I'm taking you for dinner!” 

Dan managed not to smile. 

“Dan!” 

There was a whine in Phil’s tone that was cute coming from him, but would have been very annoying had it been absolutely anyone else. 

“Danny.” 

Now, Dan could hear the pout in Phil’s voice, and he was contemplating whether or not he should cast a dismissive glance in Phil’s direction, when Phil took hold of his hand. 

He despised himself for the way his heart soared, the way he became just a little bit dizzy, the way his entire body grew warm and flushed. 

He especially hated the way their fingers slotted together, and how natural it felt. Or had he simply imagined it so often that now it was a familiarity? 

For a moment, Dan wanted to feel angry; what was Phil playing at, anyway? After the horribly embarrassing incident with the rejected kiss, there was a very small chance that Phil didn't at least have an inkling of Dan’s feelings. Why in the world would Phil play with him this way? 

But when Dan looked at Phil, astonished, the look on Phil’s face was so innocent, so sweet and bright that Dan knew he wasn't being toyed with. 

“Now you have to walk beside me, haven't you?” Phil said, sounding playfully smug as he swung their hands between them. 

Dan couldn't argue with that logic, but mainly because he was having difficulty speaking. 

After walking a while longer, Phil chatting spiritedly about this and that, Dan feeling as though he we were walking among the stars and planets, they came to a corner of London that Dan was sure he'd never seen before. Through the glass windows, he could see a cozy interior strung with Christmas lights, with tables made of dark, worn mahogany and little white candles in the middle of each. 

“It isn't anything spectacular,” Phil was saying, sounding, perhaps, a bit sheepish, but Dan was enchanted. When they went inside (after Dan raced towards the door so he could hold it open for Phil), Dan’s eyes swept around the dining room; the lighting was dim and the patrons occupying the round tables spoke softly, and alongside the candles and the winking fairy lights, the atmosphere felt warm and safe, almost familiar to Dan. 

The pair stood patiently near a small sign that asked politely that they wait to be seated, and after they'd been given a table that was a little off to one side, Dan positively gushed. 

“How did you find this place?” He asked, his fingers tracing the grain of the table in admiration. 

Phil shrugged his shoulders a little, cupping his chin in his hand. “You'd be surprised how simple it is to find fascinating things. All you've got to do is look for them.” 

They made eye contact, and Dan felt a tingle climb up his spine, because he got a keen feeling that Phil wasn't just speaking of the restaurant. 

As casually as ever before, Phil continued. “What are you ordering? Everything looks delicious…” 

Dan realized that he hadn't even looked at the menu that had been placed in front of him, so he flipped it open and scanned the list. 

It was an unexpected but pleasant amalgamation of foods that sounded far too fancy next to indulgent, commonplace comfort foods, like cheeseburgers and toasted ravioli. 

“Ratatouille,” Phil said, “Like the Disney movie!” 

“And look, macaroni and cheese, Phil!” 

“I’ll throw up on you, Daniel. Don't test me.” 

After they made their choices and Phil ordered a bottle of their “finest sparkling grape juice”, Dan and Phil settled into their natural flow of conversation. 

That was one of many things Phil adored about Dan; their interactions were so...effortless. There was never any strain between them, not a forced laugh or an insincere smile. When silence settled between them, it was comfortable and neither felt the urge to fill it. 

“-aren't meant to like soft colors, like pink or yellow, or wear lace, but that's a bit silly isn't it?” 

Dan nodded fervently, his fingers moving to trace the bits of lace in his sleeve. “Colors and fabrics aren't _meant_ to be gender specific is the thing. You, for example, periwinkle matches your eyes perfectly, doesn't it? And you should be allowed to wear a periwinkle sweater that matches your eyes without getting bizarre looks.” 

Phil smiled; Dan’s words, the ones he mulled over and considered carefully, were always very eloquent. 

“And I've never seen anyone look quite so lovely in lace as you do, Dan,” Phil replied, the stem of his wineglass slotted between his middle and ring fingers as he took a sip of the bubbling sparkling grape juice. “You should be able to wear it whenever you please.” 

“Why, thank you,” Dan replied, running a hand through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck shyly. 

A brief moment of quiet. 

“You know,” Phil said softly, his eyes intensified by the candlelight flickering between them. “I truly do owe you a lot. More than I could ever repay. If you hadn't...hadn't gone with me that night, I'm not sure if...I don't know if I'd have been strong enough to...leave. I'd always been too frightened of being alone…but, I'm not alone,” Phil smiled at Dan, and the sincerity on his face melted Dan into a puddle. “I've got you.” 

Sighing inwardly, Dan managed to refrain from burying his head in his hands. 

_I’m fucked._

 _ _It was nearly 11 o’clock when they made their way back home, arm in arm.__

 _ _

Phil shined and Dan glowed in the bright London lights, and together they were sun and the moon. Dan, in spite of everything, including himself, felt on top of the world, if only for tonight. 

Still, needling the back of his mind, was the kiss. The kiss that didn’t happen, but could have and almost did. It wasn’t that Phil had pulled away; that didn’t bother him. It was the fact that he had implemented the kiss in the first place that made his stomach twist a little bit in regret and humiliation. 

_As if he’d actually want to kiss me_ , Dan thought bitterly, although the sourness was directed only towards himself, for fooling himself. _Leave it to me to ruin my own good mood._

“You’re quiet,” Phil said, though his tone wasn’t accusatory or critical, simply observational. 

“Just thinking,” Dan replied in what he hoped was an off-handed sort of way. “About nothing in particular.” he added, in case Phil decided to ask. 

And Phil wanted to ask, but the way Dan pulled his arm away and folded his arms across his chest told Phil all he needed to know. 

In all truth, he’d been unable to completely forget the kiss himself. 

Phil had struggled for almost as long as Dan to come to terms with how he felt, although he’d been able to face the truth much easier. 

He _did_ like Dan. 

Of course he did. 

Dan was sweet, but it was subtle, like a whole mug of black coffee with one teaspoon of sugar in it. He was smart, too, almost unbelievably so, and often, Phil could hardly believe how profound and thoughtful some of the things that came out of his mouth were. 

But it was more than that. 

Dan treated Phil like a person, and after such a long time of being treated as a possession, it was liberating. He never spoke over Phil, but rather waited for Phil to speak, and then included his own thoughts and opinions. There was a sort of ease in their relationship; nothing was ever forced, nothing meticulously planned out or chosen because things happened the best when they happened naturally. 

But Phil was afraid. 

_Afraid of what?_ He’d often asked himself, but the answer was always murky. 

The reasonable part of his mind knew that Dan could not, in any single way, be less like Julian. 

Julian was abrasive, Dan was gentle. Julian was driven by anger, Dan was pulled along by desire and curiosity. Julian pushed and shoved his way around, while Dan treaded lightly and peeked around corners for fear of being disruptive. 

And Dan was _interesting_ ; there was nothing even vaguely one-dimensional about him, and every opinion he formed was thoughtful and complete and all his own. Just when Phil believed he had a clear picture of who Dan was, something completely unexpected appeared at the surface of Dan’s personality, and Phil was forced to reconsider. 

For example, when Phil was relatively certain of Dan’s modest, conservative fashion sense, he donned a shirt made out of lace. 

The fact that Dan was handsome was only the icing on the cake, really. 

When they reached the summit of the Mount Everest-esque stairwell, both slightly out of breath but attempting to disguise it, Dan fumbled with his keys to let them in, suddenly fatigued by the sheer amount of walking around they had done that day. 

“Thank you for dinner, Phil,” Dan said, as they lingered together in the hallway that branched off into either of their bedrooms (Phil had managed to put some of his things into his new room, but he still had to sleep in the lounge on account of the fact that he had no mattress yet). “Really. I had a wonderful time.” 

Here, Dan rubbed the back of his neck, the way he did when Phil paid him a compliment. 

It was painfully cute. 

“You’re welcome. But you’re the one that made it special.” Phil said and, gently, he took a step towards Dan, put one hand against his lower back and cupped one cheek in his palm, before he kissed the other cheek in a sweet, lingering way. 

Dan melted into the sensation of Phil’s warm mouth against his cheek, his eyes fluttering closed. He felt himself go a bit weak around the knees. 

Phil pulled away, leaving Dan in a fuzzy, rosy state that lowered his comprehension level considerably. 

“Good night, Dan,” Phil said, trying to pretend his heart wasn’t pounding against his ribcage like a caged canary. 

“I-I...Sweet...Sweet dreams, Phil.” 

Dan slipped into his room and pushed the door shut, before he leaned against it. He slid to the floor and buried his flustered face in his knees, unable to control the wide smile that completely altered his features. 

_Oh, dear..._

__


	8. Jumpers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hey! Chapter 8! This chapter involves delving deeper into Dan's backstory, and there's mentions of homophobia so please beware before you read it! I hope you guys enjoy it, remember to please leave your comments and feedback for me, because honestly nothing makes me happier than knowing you guys are liking what you read! Thank you!

Winter cascaded down upon London like a great white, feathery cloak. When it wasn’t snowing, everything was enveloped in a layer of shimmering frost, causing the world to look crystallized and untouchable. Dan loved the snow; it managed to make London look clean, which was nothing short of a miracle. He liked the aesthetic of windswept hair and rosy, cold-kissed cheeks and chilly, pink noses. He enjoyed the necessity for long sleeves and snow boots and warm drinks; Dan truly strove in the wintery season, and as the temperature plummeted to Arctic lows, things between he and Phil were getting cozier and cozier.

There was no denying that things had changed, even if it was never explicitly mentioned, and even if the alterations in behavior were subtle. It was in the lingering of the eye contact from across the room, the accidentally-on-purpose touching of the hands, the silent communication that took place with but a single glance, or the way they always sat a little too close together. 

Phil settled into the flat with perfect ease, and a routine slowly began to develop, until mornings in the flat ran essentially the same way every day. Today, it seemed, was no exception. 

Phil awoke to the vague scent of coffee and the soft clinking of ceramic against the marble countertop in the kitchen, which meant he was the last to wake up. He rolled over and nestled his face into his pillows to warm his cold-nipped nose, then pulled his duvet up over his head, reveling briefly in the cocoon of warmth before pushing the blankets away and embracing the frigid air that managed to seep inside despite the efforts made by he and Dan to keep it out. 

Properly awake and shivering, he shrugged a hoodie on over his naked torso before sliding his glasses on. 

When he padded along the hallway and into the kitchen, Dan was, unsurprisingly, already there; in some sort of strange new phenomenon, Dan’s circadian rhythm had begun to rouse him earlier and earlier, until he was almost always the first out of bed. 

Phil paused in the doorway; Dan stood near the coffee pot, arms folded across his chest, hands tucked beneath them in order to warm them. He was facing away, and the hair at the nape of his neck was curled and messy, and Phil could see the little beauty marks that dotted the skin there. The sweatshirt he wore was a size or two too large, obliterating his form and making him shapeless. He was humming softly, some overplayed but still enjoyable holiday tune that Phil identified after a few moments as Carol of the Bells, which Dan had been learning on the piano. 

“Good morning, Daniel,” Phil said, and Dan tipped his head in Phil’s direction in acknowledgment, a smile gracing his face. 

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Dan sniffed playfully, earning himself a gentle shove from an indignant Phil. 

“It isn’t my fault. You kept the whole building awake last night with your piano-playing!” Phil shot back, but Dan simply rolled his eyes. 

“You’re a filthy liar, you are,” Dan replied, and Phil giggled because they both knew the truth; Phil had come close to falling asleep in Dan’s bedroom a copious number of times due to the soft tinkling of the piano as Dan played. The music never lost its tranquilizing quality, and Phil would never tire of hearing Dan tap out the notes to Radiohead or Muse (which, secretly, Dan had learned in the hopes of impressing Phil). 

“Be quiet and make my coffee,” Phil ordered, tipping his nose up into the air in mock snootiness. 

Dan only laughed. “Yes, Your Highness.” 

An hour later, Dan was digging through his sock drawer, questing after a pair of matching ones, but to no avail. He was almost fully ready for the day now, and the clock on his nightstand showed that he was a little ahead of schedule. 

“Hey,” came Phil’s voice from the doorway, where he was peeking in. “How does this look? And where’s yours? You haven't forgotten, have you?” 

As soon as Dan turned around, he knew exactly what Phil meant; he was clad in a knitted blue jumper, and the entire thing was patterned in Pokéballs and Squirtles, whom were wearing little Santa Claus hats. 

Dan gave himself a mental thump on the head; he had forgotten. PJ was throwing a Christmas party that night, and the dress code called for Christmasy attire. Even though Phil had mentioned the party just the previous evening, it had completely slipped Dan’s mind. 

“You did forget, didn't you?” Phil asked, attempting to look exasperated, although the corner of his mouth twitching with the threat of smile ruined the facade. He didn't need an answer; the guilty, sheepish look on Dan’s face told him all he needed to know. 

“Well,” he continued, too excited to let Dan stew for long. “luckily for you, when I bought this sweater, I also bought another one!” From behind his back, he produced a jumper that was nearly identical, although it was red, and in lieu of the Squirtles, there were Charmanders. “Tah-dah! It's for you!” 

Dan’s eyes widened, then softened. Phil was always keeping him in mind; when he did the shopping, he never failed to buy the cereal Dan liked most. He always asked Dan what he wanted for dinner, and in instances such as this, when he knew Dan would forget something, he always remembered. 

“Phil…” Dan chuckled, shaking his head a little and crossing the room, taking the jumper into his arms and holding it up to get a better look at it. There were little orange rhinestones on the ends of the Charmander’s tails, a detail that normally would have struck Dan as tacky, but since they matched the ones on Phil’s jumper, he liked them a lot. “I love it...thank you…” 

Phil responded by covering his eyes with his hands expectantly. Dan took the hint and, without even a touch of discomfort in Phil’s presence, shed his plain jumper in favor of the one from Phil. 

After wiggling his way into the article of clothing and patting down his hair, he stood in front of Phil and stretched his arms out to either side. 

“What do you think?” He asked, and Phil peeked out from between his fingers, before throwing his arms up triumphantly. 

“Oh, yes! You look so sweet!” Phil cooed, and Dan dismissed the heat in his cheeks as a result of the thick knit of the jumper. “Wait, wait! Let's take a photo- a selfie.” 

Phil pulled his phone from his pocket, and Dan, who tended to avoid photos in general, stood awkwardly beside him, a obviously fake smile on his face. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands, so they hung at his sides. Phil poised his thumb over the camera button, before he stopped and turned to look at Dan. 

“You look like you're being held against your will and forced to sport festive clothing,” he said. “Loosen up! At least try to look like you don't hate me.” 

Dan chuckled, and leaned in a little closer. 

“More.” Phil said, adjusting the angle of the phone for better lighting. Dan rolled his eyes and nestled his chin in Phil’s shoulder; as an afterthought, he wound his arms around Phil’s middle, allowing himself to savor the moment of close proximity. 

Phil smelled of honeysuckle and peppermints, and his hair was soft against Dan’s cheek. Phil, surprised by Dan’s impromptu nearness, but pleased nonetheless, took the opportunity to nuzzle his head as close to Dan’s as he could, before snapping the photo. 

“It’s nice!” he said, holding the phone up so Dan could see the photo too. 

“Yes, we look like proper losers,” Dan agreed, though he secretly thought it was the nicest photo in the universe. “Let’s get going.” 

To the surprise of nobody, it was snowing. He stuff came down in large, feathery flakes that clung to every surface, not excluding Phil’s hair and the hood of Dan’s coat, which was pulled up over his head in order to protect the integrity of his hair, which would inevitably curl if it got wet. 

By the time the pair reached What’s Up, Buttercup?, Phil was almost completely soaked, because although the tube had offered a brief respite from the ceaselessly falling snow, the majority of the journey was spent braving the cold. Phil shivered incessantly, hardly able to guide the key into the lock for how much his hand trembled, but in spite of that, both he and Dan finally managed to get inside the shop and out of the harsh weather. 

Thankfully, working with flowers required that the interior of the shop stay warm always, considering very few flowers exist with the amenities to survive cold, and so in no time at all, Dan and Phil had both shed their damp coats and were rubbing warmth back into their cheeks. 

“Oh, I feel like a melting snowman,” Phil said, attempting to generate heat by rubbing his palms together. 

Dan, who had disappeared momentarily to get his and Phil’s smocks along with the watering can, set his armful of things on the ground and took one of Phil’s hands between both of his own, which were significantly warmer, as they'd been tucked inside his sleeves, and began to massage warmth into his fingers. 

Dan’s irrepressible feelings for Phil had begun to manifest in little shows of affection like this, and it made Phil’s heart flit about like a frantic moth. He was enamored by the boy, who was all things soft and lovely, but Dan hadn't made any sort of romantic advance since the evening of the rebuffed kiss. It was the fear of rejection that rooted Dan to the spot, and even the notion of the humiliation and shame that accompanied being pushed away filled him with the same dread he'd felt the day he'd been booted from his home by his own father. 

Unfortunately for Dan, it was one of the memories he could recall most vividly. 

The boy in his bed hadn’t even been his boyfriend, at least not yet. The same shyness that prevented him from pursuing Phil had hindered Dan in this scenario too, but once he’d tasted the boy, who went by Thomas but not Tommy, he couldn’t stop himself. The pinhole of common sense at the back of his mind gave off warning signals like a fire alarm; he knew that his father, who was a serious, rigid, and important businessman that worked for a company who sold drill bits, would return home any second now. The feeling of bigger, rougher hands against his hips and the scent of musky cologne dulled his senses and sedated is logic so heavily that the sounds of loafer-clad footsteps against hardwood or the rattling of a brass door handle flew almost completely undetected. 

Almost. 

It was too late to react. All Dan could do was scramble to the floor and attempt to stammer out some sort of diversion, a “How was your day?” or a casual “What’s up, Dad?”, anything to overcome the tense silence. It was the calm before the storm, the few seconds of slow motion between the swing of the axe and the execution. As Dan stood, trying in vain to string together words that weren’t meaningless, an entire rainbow of emotions crossed his father’s stern face; it began with red confusion that slowly morphed into orange disbelief. Following that was something that appeared to be yellow betrayal, then green disgust and blue fury, and then all of these colors coalesced into the gloriously violet bruise that would blossom beneath Dan’s right eye subsequent to the hard-knuckled and unforgiving blow that landed there via his father’s fist. 

Dan had never seen stars so bright before, and the world around him became blurry and faded, rendering him useless to do anything but cup his head in his hands, sprawled on his knees, and trying not to pass out. 

Whilst his father chased Thomas from the house, threatening to call the police (with no legitimate grounds to do so, really, but also without any other threat intimidating enough to frighten someone away), Dan forced himself to find his bearings. Still a little cloudy, he blundered his way into the bathroom and promptly vomited into the sink. He’d never been hit with so much force before, especially not in the face, and it left him feeling nauseous and wobbly. 

After heaving over the sink for several minutes, Dan’s head cleared up enough for a little bit of rationality to seep back into his brain. He hadn’t the faintest idea of where his father might have gone, and he wasn’t stupid enough to go looking for him, so he closed the bathroom door and locked it for good measure. The entirety of the left side of his face throbbed painfully, and the bruise was already visible; there would be no covering it up, he could already tell. Dan felt strange, as if he should be more panicked, as though the fear should be crippling to him. 

But as he sat on the cold linoleum floor, his legs crossed and his hands tucked in between them, he found that he was reasonably level-headed, at least enough to think rational thoughts. 

_If he wanted to hit me again, he’d be busting down that door. Is it possible that...he isn’t angry? That it was knee-jerk reaction? Maybe...maybe…_

That was when the shouting started. 

All of the terror that had been previously absent washed over him in a single, tsunami-esque wave and his breathing went funny. 

It took several minutes of listening with strained ears to realize that it wasn’t just shouting (specifically, it wasn’t shouting directed at him), but a two-sided argument. 

“-is _your son_.” said his mother’s voice, broken and pleading. 

“No son of mine would ever disgrace me that way,” his father spat back, and Dan felt the urge to be sick well up in his throat again. Disgrace? Is that what his father thought of him? 

“Maybe it’s...it’s just a phase,” pleaded his mother, obviously attempting to sound persuasive and level. “He could...it could have been...just-” 

“Marlene, get your head out of his ass and open your eyes. 18 years of teaching him the difference between what’s right and wrong, and he chooses to go against my word? The word of God? I won’t have a...a heathen living under my roof, Marlene, and it’s either he goes or I do it for him.” 

Dan’s felt his stomach drop somewhere between his ankles. 

Go…? Surely he wasn’t going to be kicked out? Where would he go? He was hardly more than 18, and the only money he had was what he had been given for his birthday just a couple of weeks prior. In total, it was little more than two-hundred. 

Downstairs, the arguing had ceased. It seemed the ultimatum his father had presented to his mother had rendered her speechless, helpless. 

Before he had time to process what he was being thrust into, he was climbing to his feet and unlocking the door. If he was going to be forced from his home, he was going to take it into his own hands as much as he was able. He re-entered his bedroom and found the only suitcase he owned tucked away in the corner of his closet; he took the time to fold his clothing neatly, but only so he could fit as much of it into the case as he could. To his surprise, nobody came after him in that time. 

When he was finished, he took one final, sweeping look around his bedroom and felt his heart ache. 

Never had he considered that things might happen this way. Dan had always assumed that he would, on his own terms, tell his parents he was interested in men when he was on his own feet and unreliant on them. He had known the way his parents, especially his father, felt about any sort of sexuality that wasn’t heterosexual. 

It wasn’t something Dan had “come to terms with”, so to speak. Part of him had always known,but it wasn’t until he was little older, when he was forced to attend church every Sunday morning with his parents, instead of being left in the care of his grandmother, that he was told how wrong it was for boys to like boys, that he would be punished for it. 

This, combined with the horrifically homophobic remarks spewed by ignorant peers at school was enough for Dan to do everything in his power to hide his sexuality, although he was never interested in suppressing it. 

One day, he knew, he’d meet someone he loved who would accept him just as he was. 

He stood before his parents with his suitcase clutched between his hands, his chin up. His mother gave a mournful moan at the sight of the bruise flowering on his cheek, but said nothing; in a “good” Christian household, a wife never defied her husband, and she had given up trying to defend him. Dan wouldn’t even look at her. If his father was surprised to see him standing upright instead of slumped over tragically, begging for forgiveness, promising to change, his face didn’t convey it. 

Very few words were exchanged in the stony silence, not until he opened his mouth. 

“See you around,” He said, his voice tight and bitter. Goodbye sounded too defeated, so he refrained from using the word. 

Dan descended the stairs to the front door as casually as if he weren’t on the brink of being essentially homeless, and without looking back, swung the door open and departed. The tears didn’t come until much later, when he was all alone and there was nobody around to watch him crumble. 

That had been years ago, well over four of them now, and although the physical wound healed within a couple weeks, the emotional scars would ever really fade. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but being exiled by those who were meant to love him no matter what had stigmatized him greatly. He was afraid to love, simply because he was afraid to crash and burn when he fell and nobody was there to catch him. 

But even in this moment, as he held Phil’s hand between his own, there was something there, something _new_. It wasn’t the doubt and aversion he normally felt, but something genuine and real. 

It occurred to Dan suddenly that he had been holding onto Phil for quite some time now, and he withdrew in a hurry, a little embarrassed, but Phil only smiled at him. 

“Thank you for your warmth, Charmander,” he grinned, gently poking one of the knitted Pokemon on his jumper and making Dan snort. “Now, I think someone needs to water those poinsettias. I choose you.” 

Dan laughed at that, but as he carried out his morning duties, carefully tending to the flowers and gazing out through the window and into the sparkling white world beyond, he couldn’t help but mull the words over and over in his mind, even if they had only been a playful, offhanded comment. 

_I’d choose you, too, Phil Lester. I want to choose you so badly._


	9. Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! Hello! I'm so pleased and relieved to finally be posting again, and I do apologize for the wait. This chapter was originally going to be completely different, but I wasn't satisfied with the final product, so I rewrote it! I would never give you all something I didn't consider up to par, so I hope you can forgive me! I've started school, so it will be a little harder to update quickly, but I will certainly do my best! Thank you again so, so much for reading my little story and giving me such wonderful feedback, and remember that comments and critiques are always, ALWAYS encouraged and welcome! I love you guys!

When he was in Uni, Dan had attended only one party.

The whole affair had panned out rather poorly for him, and when he woke up the following morning with a dizzying headache and bits of his hair dyed purple with no recollection of how it must've gotten that way, he concluded that the party lifestyle did not suit him very well at all. 

This party, though, was much different. Soft, jazzy holiday music poured like molasses from the speakers in the ceiling, which, during the day, usually played soft pop and alternative rock. PJ and Chris had strung twinkly Christmas lights along the windows of Java The Hut, and alongside the usual smells of hazelnut coffee and baked goods, the atmosphere was overall very cozy and warm. The various loveseat sofas and armchairs had been dragged into a semicircle near the fireplace, and with the pitcher of pumpkin pie eggnog alongside a plethora of cookies, Dan couldn’t help but think that this was his sort of party. 

Or maybe it was the feeling of Phil curled up beside him, his feet tucked under Dan’s leg, with the firelight illuminating his rosy features that was making Dan feel so light and bubbly. 

Or _maybe_ it was the alcohol in the eggnog. 

Even so, Dan stuck by Phil. In regular social situations, he was awkward at best, but the etiquette called for by a party involved plenty of interaction, often with strangers, and among the many things Dan considered himself to be deficient at, interacting with strangers on a social level (at work, he didn’t have to grasp at straws to make conversation or even introduce himself) was at the very top of the list. 

Phil’s natural magnetism allowed him to connect with nearly everyone he came in contact with and he thrived, even with Dan all but glued to his side. 

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he told Dan soothingly, when they were out of earshot of everybody else. “They’re all very nice. PJ wouldn’t have invite anyone who wasn’t.” 

Dan shook his head. “It isn’t that, it’s just...y’know...me.” 

Phil’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean? What about you?” 

But Dan only shrugged his shoulders, averting his gaze in embarrassment. Surely Phil hadn’t forgotten the way Dan had initially behaved when they first became acquainted. Granted, his naturally blundery demeanor had been greatly enhanced by his overwhelming attraction to Phil, but he wasn’t much better in normal circumstances. 

“Well, there isn’t anything wrong with you,” Phil continued, tweaking Dan’s nose gently. “You’re wonderful. You’re like,” he paused, and Dan knew precisely what he was doing; Phil often drew his best wisdom from the symbolic facets of various flower types. “Like a ranunculus flower. Do you know what those mean?” 

“Phil, you might be the _only_ one who knows what those mean.” 

Phil continued, unperturbed by Dan’s comment, determined to convince him of his aptitude. “They mean ‘radiant’. You’re _radiant_ , Dan. Like the stars!” 

Inwardly, Dan melted a little; leave it to Phil to use a word like _radiant_ , to compare him to something as lovely as the diamond studs in the black velvet sky as casually as though they were discussing the weather. 

“How is it that you always know what to say?” Dan asked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously; this wasn't the first time he suspected Phil might be some sort of ethereal being. 

Phil only laughed. “Maybe you just bring it out of me.” 

But Dan knew that wasn’t true. Phil’s nature was all his own, and anyway, there was nothing about him that could inspire such beautiful words. He wasn’t that special. 

It wasn’t until the party had been in full swing for several hours that Dan, for the first time all evening, was truly and properly left to his own devices. Phil had excused himself to use the restroom, and while Dan was almost wholly unwilling to fend for himself against the inevitability of human interaction in a room full of (mostly) unfamiliar people, the thought of following Phil into the toilet was so pathetic that he snubbed it immediately. He may have been embarrassingly clingy, but not to that degree. Not yet, anyway; perhaps one day, he would manage to humiliate himself so astronomically that it would permanently debilitate the meager social skills he possessed. 

He spotted Louise, talking animatedly to a gaggle of people, a glass of eggnog in one hand threatening to spill over due to her exuberant gesticulation, and wondered if he might be able to slide onto the sofa beside her and go unnoticed. He took no more than five steps in her direction when his path was intersected by a pretty girl with short, angular hair dyed a metallic silver. 

“Why are you standing over here alone?” She prompted, although not unkindly. 

Dan’s eyes flickered immediately in the direction of the bathroom. “I-I, well, I was just, uh-” 

“Ah, you're waiting for him. The boy you've been with all night.” She said, her mouth curving into a teasing grin. “Your boyfriend?” 

Dan resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands; it had never really occurred to him that to those on the outside, who didn’t know them, they appeared as a couple. It was a fair assumption to make; after all, hadn’t Dan spent the entire length of the party trailing Phil like a lovesick puppy? Hadn’t they whispered together in a corner, sat much too close on a loveseat? 

Flustered by this revelation, Dan shook his head. “O-oh no, he’s not...we-were aren’t…” 

The girl laughed, “Don’t be embarrassed. It's cute. I’m Cat,” she added, offering out a hand to shake. 

He accepted her hand hesitantly. “Dan.” 

“Join me for a drink, won't you, Dan?” said Cat, nodding towards the bowl of eggnog, and because Dan was too polite to say no, even though he had reached the alcoholic quota he'd put in place for himself, he agreed. 

“So, that boy,” she said, as she used the ornate silver ladle to distribute some of the drink into two cups. “If he isn’t your boyfriend, then who is he?” 

“Phil? He's my best friend,” Dan replied, accepting the cup she offered to him graciously. “And my housemate. And my boss.” 

Cat blinked. “Woah, All of those things at once, huh? How did you meet?” 

“I needed a job,” Dan said, shrugging his shoulders a little. “And he owns the little florist shop down the road.” 

“Flowers? Very romantic.” replied Cat, giving Dan the same lilting smile as before. 

At this moment, Phil’s boisterous laughter drifted towards Dan’s ears, and his eyes were immediately drawn in the direction the sound came from. He was leant casually over the back of an armchair, chatting away with Chris, as amiable as ever. 

“You should do something about it,” Cat said, lacking context in a way that gave Dan the impression that he was made of cellophane, very Louise-esque. He didn’t even bother asking what she meant; he already knew. Dan cast a side glance in her direction, then looked down at the cup in his hand. It was quite likely that the alcohol was taking its effects, and he couldn’t help but think that Cat was a stranger, after all, and that the repercussions of being completely honest with her couldn’t be too severe. 

“I think he’s too good,” Dan said, his eyes never really straying away from Phil. “For anyone, really. Especially me.” 

Cat gave Dan a calculating look, her eyes narrowed a little. “You aren’t giving yourself enough credit.” 

Dan almost snorted. “We’ve just met. I could be addicted to meth. I could be a murderer.” 

“Murderers and meth addicts don’t wear sweaters with tiny Pokemon on them, generally,” Cat retorted, though her eyes smiled. “But really, Dan, everyone in this room can tell that you don’t give yourself enough credit, even the people who don’t know you.” 

This disclosure actually surprised Dan. “What do you mean?” Did everybody in the world possess this ability to see right through him? Was he really so transparent? 

“It isn’t hard to tell when somebody isn’t aware of their own self worth. You shrink away, try to fade into the background. You seem afraid. Closed off. Which is fine,” she affixed smoothly. “Being shy is okay, but it shouldn’t make you feel like you’re less than what you really are.” 

Phil had told him precisely the same thing, so perhaps this revelation was some sort of universal truth. Before he had the chance to formulate some sort of response, Cat reached up and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. 

“I think now is a good time to make a move,” she told him, gesturing in an offhanded sort of way towards Phil, who had wandered off to peer out of the frosted windows and into the darkened street; he was actually very deep in thought. Cat gave Dan an encouraging little shove, before conveniently excusing herself to go and converse with Louise. 

Dan put his cup down on the table and wrapped his arms around his body to make himself as small as possible, before he made his way towards the sequestered little window by which Phil hovered. 

“Hey,” he said, watching Phil’s profile illuminate from the light of the streetlamps lining the street that filtered through the pane of glass. 

Phil didn’t look at him, but he smiled. Just as Dan had recognized Phil’s laughter, Phil could identify Dan’s voice above anybody else's 

“Hey, you,” 

Dan swallowed; why was he so nervous? It was almost unacceptable for Phil’s presence to affect him this way anymore. They had been housemates for nearly six months now, afterall. 

“The jumpers are a hit,” he said, rubbing the edge of his sleeve between his thumb and forefinger. It was true that they’d been getting compliments all evening on their matching knits, although Dan couldn’t accept any of the credit. It was all by Phil’s design that he even had a jumper to wear at all. 

“Well, we _are_ very precious, if I do say so myself,” Phil replied, finally turning his face from the window to give Dan a cheeky grin. He looked glowy in the percolating light, his eyes darker but no less sparkling. In the brief respite of quiet between them, Dan shifted a little closer, the draft that seeped in from the unsealed edges of the window causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. 

“Are you cold?” Phil asked, minor concern laced into his tone. Without anticipating a response, he wrapped an arm around Dan and rubbed his arm in a manner that made Dan want to fall asleep. He longed to curl into Phil’s side and nestle his head beneath Phil’s chin, arms wrapped around his waist. The desire for physical intimacy rivaled the dire need for emotional reassurance in Dan’s case, for he had been starved of it for so many years. He hadn’t even realized how much he craved the tenderness of another human touch until the fateful event of the almost-kiss, and ever since then had taken advantage of any situation where nearness could be achieved by any non-creepy means. 

“Dan, why is it that people kiss underneath mistletoes?” Phil inquired, rather out of the blue. He did this often, not only because he was curious by his very nature, but also because Dan always seemed to know the answers. When Phil had praised Dan for being so smart, Dan had, of course, denied it completely. He enlisted the argument that people who were smart traditionally did not drop out of university in their third year, but Phil refuted this by pointing out to him that thousands and thousands of incredibly intelligent people would never set foot on a university campus in their whole lives, which effectively shut him up, but not before he added “And you say that I’m the smart one.” 

Even so, Dan had to give this one some thought; he wasn’t succinctly up to speed on his Christmastime lore, but he felt certain he’d picked up the information somewhere, at some point over the course of his existence. 

“Hm...I think it involves pregnancy. Something to do with kissing beneath the berries and being blessed with good fertility,” Dan said, his brow furrowed, deep in thought. “But by today’s standard, it’s mostly just a tradition that people follow without everr really knowing why.” 

“Huh,” Phil said, his gaze travelling upwards momentarily. “Does that mean if I kissed you now, you’d have a better chance of getting pregnant?” 

Dan’s head snapped up; sure enough, affixed to the overhang of the ceiling directly above their heads was a bundle of white berries and dark green leaves, secured together with a little red ribbon. 

He looked back at Phil, before looking frantically around the room. Thankfully, nobody else seemed to have noticed or, if they did, they didn’t really care. His heart began to race again when he returned his gaze to Phil, who was already gazing back, eyes tender. He removed his arm from where it was still secured around Dan’s body before taking both of Dan’s hands in his own. 

“I think it’s a little silly to keep pretending,” Phil said, his voice soft and steady, almost rhythmic. “Nobody has ever done as much for me as you have, Dan,” he continued, and even as Dan’s eyes flicked nervously over his face, his expression confused trying not to be hopeful, Phil’s gaze remained steady. 

“You gave me a home when I didn’t have one. You gave me a best friend when I felt more alone than I ever have. I think you might have even saved my life,” Phil blushed, because it was such a cheesy thing to say, but was it not the truth even so? He continued on, determined; there could be no more waiting. Even if tomorrow, none of this mattered, even if it was all fruitless and Phil was playing himself for a fool, there could be no more waiting. 

Flowers, he knew, bloom best when they are given nurture and love, but they could survive without it. Humans weren’t so different in that way, and he was living proof; he had spent so long festering in the fear of being alone that he mistook possessiveness as love and abuse as protection, and while he had continue to grow and get older, he had always been forced to hide himself away, to be overly apologetic and excessively frightened. It was wasted time now, six whole years of precious, wasted time that he could never get back. 

But he could certainly make up for it now. 

He could make up for it by extending the real, true love he knew he could emanate towards Dan, like rays of sunshine. He could help Dan bloom. 

“And I know that you think you aren’t anything special. But _I_ think you are. As a matter of fact, I _know_ that you are, And I want _you_ to know that you are. I want you to love you the way that I...I’m rambling now, aren’t I? Am I still making sense?” Phil was becoming steadily more nervous because he knew what he was leading up to, and he knew that Dan knew, too. 

Dan nodded, though his bewilderment was clear behind his eyes. 

“Can I kiss you now?” Phil blurted out, and instead of waiting for an answer, he yanked Dan in and all but smashed their mouths together. 

Dan’s eyes remained wide open, his entire form frozen in shock; even though Phil had mentioned kissing him just moments before, he hadn’t entirely believed that it would happen. 

Clearly, he had been mistaken. 

It was a clumsy kiss and Dan’s lips were chapped from the cold, but Phil’s were soft and warm, and, Dan noted, tasted of cinnamon. Phil’s cold hands cupped the back of his head firmly and since Dan didn’t know what to do with his, they rested fastidiously on Phil’s hips, his fingers curled into the soft knit of his jumper. He had pictured this scenario an embarrassingly copious number of times, but never had he imagined that it would come to fruition at a holiday party so very late at night, or that he would feel such a prominent sense of completeness when he, at last, gave way to his whim and allowed himself to enter the freefall of falling head over heels in love with somebody without fear of crashing and burning. 

It wasn’t a perfect kiss by any means, but it was a beautiful one, more so than anything Dan's imagination could have ever cooked up as he hid from the world beneath his blankets. 

When Dan’s eyes finally fluttered closed, he was sure he felt Phil smiling against his lips, causing fireworks to erupt behind his eyelids. 

Phil’s thumbs pressed tenderly into Dan’s temples before he was forced to pull away, and Dan wondered if it were the lack of oxygen that made him dizzy or the kiss that still lingered all over his body in shivers along his spine or the blush that flooded his cheeks. 

They stared at one another, hardly an inch apart, chests rising and falling a little more rapidly than usual, faces flushed and eyes bright. 

“Good?” Phil asked, his tone breathless and eager and enticing. 

“Yeah. Good. Really good.” Dan replied, nodding his head in earnest, before seizing Phil by the waist and pulling him in again, savoring the way Phil laughed into his mouth. 

Across the room, Cat nudged Louise and nodded her head towards the two entwined silhouettes outlined by the light of the window. “Finally.” 

“You have no idea.” 

”I’ll drink to that,” PJ said, reaching over to tap his glass against Louise’s. 

Chris shifted a little bit closer to add his own drink to the mix. “To love?” 

And together they toasted “To love.”


	10. Burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on updating yet, and I know this chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but there's also quite a lot in it, so I hope you can forgive me! Enjoy, and as always, comments and criticism and anything you have to say are always wanted and welcome! I love you guys!

Never in his life, at least not that he could recall, had Dan ever shared a bed with someone else. Perhaps when he was a baby or a sick toddler, his mother had curled herself around him like a cocoon of safekeeping to protect him from the cold world or else ease his discomfort. If she had, he didn't remember it.

As Dan came to, the very first thing he registered was the scent that surrounded his being; it wasn't his own. Immediately following this initial revelation came the sudden and vivid awareness that a second body was occupying the space around him, and that the comforting warmth that he was experiencing was not the result of being swathed in blankets, but the effects of the arms wound loosely about his middle and the legs that were slotted between and tangled up with his own. 

This realization was something of a shock, but for no good reason. Dan was certain of the fact that neither he nor Phil had consumed enough eggnog to be anything more than a teensy bit tipsy, and certainly not to the extent of alcohol-induced amnesia. No, when he thought back across the last nine hours or so, he could recall most everything: 

The walk from Java The Hut to the tube station was surreally serene; usually loud, buzzing London was quiet, peacefully so. The snow pillowed the street and the sidewalk and silenced their footsteps in a way that could almost erase their existence completely, if not for the trail of footprints they left behind in the powdered sugar coating. 

Dan wouldn’t have minded it, really, if the universe pretended, if only for a few moments, not to notice them. The silence that permeated the air gave Dan the distinct impression that they were meant to also be silent, to keep themselves a secret from the world beyond this boxed-in street. 

As for Phil, Dan was certain he’d never seen anybody glow so brightly in his life, a beacon of ethereal light that poured from every inch of his being, more dazzling than even the Christmas lights and the moon. 

He hadn’t even had the time to wonder if he was allowed to hold Phil’s hand, because maybe 15 paces from the door of the coffee shop, Phil reached over and slid his hand into Dan’s, slotting their fingers together, When Dan looked over, Phil was actively avoiding his gaze, though the smile that tugged on Phil’s mouth and the flush in his cheeks were telling all on their own. 

Dan rolled his eyes and gave Phil a fond bump with his hip, which sent him stumbling a little over his own two feet, and in that moment, which was as miniscule as a snowflake, Dan wondered how he’d ever made it this far. 

“You’re a disaster,” Dan said, using the grip he already had on Phil to help him regain his balance. 

“You must be new here,” Phil retorted, before yanking Dan towards him by the hand and kissing his cheek. The heat of Phil’s mouth and the lackthereof in his nose caused Dan to shiver a little, but his eye fluttered shut nonetheless. The unreality of it all was still in full effect; Dan could hardly believe how things were beginning to unfold now, but he couldn’t deny that it was a great relief not to constantly be at odds with himself. He felt liberated, so much so that he was even able to ignore the tiny needling in the back of his brain that wondered how long this feeling would last. 

However, right in that moment, nothing mattered to Dan _but_ that moment. It was his to rejoice in, his and Phil’s, and one would be hard pressed to take it away. Even when they reached the tube station, and even though Dan could feel his palm growing damp with sweat, (he could feel Phil sweating, too, but he didn’t mind it much), their fingers remained interlocked. 

As they settled down onto one of the seats (the tube itself was essentially empty), Dan began to detail his evening to Phil, who was particularly intrigued by Cat. 

“I think that she’s like Louise, and she can just tell, you know? I never could figure out how girls somehow always seem to know things even when nobody’s said anything about them.” 

Phil averted his gaze, and Dan could hear him suppressing laughter. 

“What?” He asked, suddenly feeling defensive and silly, as though he had said something wrong. 

“Nothing!” Phil insisted, but the way his teeth nibbled at the edge of his lip in order to control his facial expression spoke volumes. 

Although he didn’t know why, Dan felt himself blushing and he pulled his hand away, turning his nose up and sniffing dismissively. 

“Oh, Dan,” Phil said, trying to catch a hold of Dan’s hand again, but Dan simply folded his arms tightly across his chest. 

_“Danny!”_ He whined, poking out his lower lip and nuzzling Dan’s shoulder, only to be ignored again. Phil attempted in several ways to earn back Dan’s attention (including tickling him, which Dan considered to be cheating), but none of them worked. 

“Why were you laughing at me?” He demanded, his head remaining turned away but his eyes glancing back towards Phil. 

“Well, Danny, it’s just that...everyone sort of knew. You know, about...you. And me.” Phil chewed at the inside of his cheek; it sounded just as insulting as he feared it would. 

It took Dan a moment to really figure out what exactly Phil meant, but when it clicked, his face took on the expression of somebody who had just realized that they were naked in public. 

“What?! Everyone?” Apparently he really was that transparent. 

“Ah…yes. You weren’t very good at hiding it, you know…” Dan’s gaze fell to his hands, and he seemed smaller somehow; Phil realized his mistake and tried to patch it up immediately. “But it was sweet! And...and I didn’t necessarily try to hide it either!” 

Here, he wrapped his arms around Dan’s waist and squeezed him tight. “Don’t be embarrassed. Really. I always liked you, too. You were so cute with all your stuttering and clumsiness. You _are_ so cute.” 

Dan huffed, but he couldn’t resist leaning into the touch, even if he was sweating in the heated conditions of the tube and his heavy coat. “Nerd.” 

By the time they reached home, both of them were experiencing a state of euphoria that could only be attained within the parameters of not enough sleep, a little too much to drink, and falling in love. 

Phil leaned against the frame of his doorway, and it felt strange to say goodnight now. 

“Can I kiss you now?” Dan asked, and he only saw the corner of Phil’s mouth quirk up into a bashful grin, before he leaned in and gave him a lingering little peck. When he pulled away, Phil’s eyes remained closed and even in the dim hallway, the fluster in his cheeks and ears was visible. 

“Goodnight, Phil Lester,” Dan said gently, before he slipped into his bedroom and closed the door. He shed his coat and his jumper swiftly, not bothering to hang them up and discarding them on the chair that hadn’t quite been put back in it’s proper position beneath the little desk across from the foot of his bed. Inside, Dan was a beautiful bottle of champagne; golden bubbles shimmered inside his belly and his fingertips and perhaps even inside of his eyes. Every so often, a bubble popped and sent glimmers of pure joy along his whole body, which culminated into a soft giggle or an uncontrollable grin, and he wondered only vaguely if he was only so happy because he was drunk. 

Then he wondered if he were drunk on eggnog or on blue eyes and big hands. 

As he shimmied into bed, Dan gave in to an old habit and pulled the sheets up and over his head, then closed his eyes. He waited patiently, but no water colored fantasy came to life inside his head, as though his brain were a movie projector that someone had forgotten to put film inside of. 

When he emerged from his empty cave of what-ifs, a thought crossed Dan’s mind; 

_“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep, because reality is finally better than your dreams.”_

He cringed a little bit because it was so cheesy, but the truth of the statement rang loud and clear. Dan wondered if Phil had ever daydreamed about him, of them together, but dismissed the idea. Not everybody was as pathetic as he was. 

With his eyes closed, Dan pictured what things would be like now; would he and Phil become a real couple? Would they try and pretend that this night had never taken place and hope that things return to normal? Would Phil detach from him, the way he’d always feared? That thought made his stomach feel less like golden champagne and more like it was full of absinthe. He pulled his knees closer to his body and all but pleaded with himself not to ruin it all. 

_Don’t do this._ He begged. _Just be happy. Just let yourself be happy for once._

Before he could send himself into his usual abyss of self-induced despair, there was a soft knock on his bedroom door, followed by the sound of it opening, then closing again. 

“Dan?” whispered Phil’s voice. “Are you still awake?” 

As always, Phil’s presence acted as a ball of warm light that expelled dark thoughts like they were shadows. “Yeah. You okay?” 

He sat up a little, and Phil loomed hesitantly at the foot of his bed, picking at his fingers. 

“I’m okay, yeah...Uh...Can I…?” Phil nodded his head towards Dan’s bed. “It’s cold, y’know…” Dan could hear the smile in his Phil’s voice, and he couldn’t abstain from grinning back. “Oh, of course. Can’t have you freezing to death, can we?” 

There was a bit of shuffling, and then Dan felt Phil nestling up behind him. In Dan’s opinion, they fit together like two puzzles pieces, and when Phil’s arms found their way around Dan’s waist, he was helpless to do anything but melt into the embrace and close his eyes. 

“Is this okay?” Phil asked timidly, his voice ghosting over Dan’s ear and making him shiver in delight. 

“It's perfect.” 

And then they were quiet. 

It was the sensation of Phil’s thumb pressed into his hip and the sound of his breathing that eventually lulled Dan to sleep, and he wasn’t sure if it were a product of his half-asleep, minorly-drunken state or if it had actually happened, but he seemed to recall a whisper. 

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever.” 

Yes, that was all that had happened, which was something of a relief to Dan, who had never in his life considered the possibility of having a one night stand, particularly not with somebody he actually cared about. He felt Phil shift a little bit in sleep, and his grip on Dan’s waist loosened just enough for Dan to roll over and face him. In his sleep, Phil was serene and as beautiful as always, almost ghostly in the pale light of the wintery morning. 

His nose twitched a little when Dan gently touched their foreheads together, and he waited patiently until Phil’s light eyelashes fluttered and his eyes opened. 

“Good morning,” Dan said quietly, his tone like spindly cotton candy from sleep. Phil gave him a sweet smile and tucked his head up beneath Dan’s chin for a brief moment. 

“Good morning to you,” Phil replied, before sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Are you hungry?” 

“I'm starving.” said Dan, who was only now realizing that this was true as he sat up too, although rather unwilling to leave the atmosphere of coziness that they had created together. 

“Breakfast, then,” Phil said, then he tweaked Dan’s nose playfully. And with that, Phil bounced out of the bed in a way that gave Dan no choice but to follow. 

It only took the fifteen minutes to come to the conclusion that neither of them was apt enough in the culinary arts to successfully make pancakes without simultaneously destroying their kitchen. 

“Phil, how did you even get flour on this?” 

“At least _I_ know how to crack an egg without getting the shell in the bowl!” 

“I got them out!” 

“With your fingers!” 

Dan bit his tongue; he had to refrain from pointing out that if Phil was comfortable with touching Dan’s lips with his own, surely he could get used to Dan touching their food with his hands. 

“Just give me the whisk and butter up the pan. But be careful, it's already been heating up.” 

He glanced down at Phil’s phone, which he had balanced upright against the toaster, to check the recipe for the pancakes, when a text alert appeared at the top of the screen. 

Louise: You disappeared early last night. 

Louise: Hope you had fun! 

Louise: ;) 

Dan shook his head fondly and, after double-checking to make sure they'd put all of the right ingredients in, began to whisk them all together. 

“Ouch!” Phil squeaked, backpedaling away from the stove and sucking his knuckle, eyebrows creased in pain. 

“Oh, Phil,” Dan sighed, placing the bowl on the counter and taking Phil’s hand to assess the damage; there was a small but angry red burn stretching along the side of Phil’s third knuckle. “I told you it was hot. Go run it under the tap.” He instructed, and, after giving it a second thought, kissed the little welt. 

“You're sappy.” Phil commentated as he stood with his finger under the cold running water. 

“And you're smelly.” Dan snipped back, before returning to his whisking. 

“I’m going to call the police on you.” 

“For what?” 

“For calling your boyfriend smelly.” 

Dan froze. “My...boyfriend?” 

“Well...yeah, I mean...unless you don't want me to be…I just sort of thought that since we, you know, and then...we…” 

Dan was silent, but his mind was racing. Was he ready to be someone’s boyfriend? He didn't know. How could he possibly know? He hadn't really anticipated any of the events that had come to pass within the last day or so. 

Suddenly his heart was pounding and he was having difficulty swallowing. He didn't want to hurt Phil, ever. The thought of causing him any sort of pain made Dan feel sick, and Phil had been through so much already. He deserved the best and why, _why_ had Dan thought that they could kiss and cuddle and sleep side by side without this sort of emotional baggage coming with it all? 

He didn't have emotional baggage though, did he? No, Dan came with emotional _boulders_ , and was he willing to crush Phil under the weight of his problems? Better yet, would Phil even want to be with him once he _really_ knew what Dan was like? 

Phil had stopped looking at him now, and was instead gazing down at his finger, it's shape disfigured by the water that cascaded over it. Dan almost didn't catch the tiny “oh” that fell from Phil’s lips in hardly a whisper. 

“Phil-” He began, regret welling up inside of his stomach as he floundered for words, grappling with the guilt and the fear that shrouded his thoughts. 

“No, I get it,” Phil said, his tone forcibly bright. “I suppose I-I...was mistaken. It's all right.” 

Phil was trying really very hard not to have hurt feelings, but the familiar symptoms of heart break were all but impossible to ignore; his shoulders aches and his stomach twisted and his heart settled somewhere between his knees. 

Slowly, almost mechanically, he turned off the tap and dried his hands. 

“I don't think I'm feeling very hungry now.” He said softly, annoyed by the way his voice wavered and how his feet, for a moment, refused to move. 

Phil was humiliated and only wanted to leave the room with his dignity at least a little bit intact, but the tears that threatened to overwhelm him guaranteed that wouldn't happen. 

“Phil, please, I didn't mean to...I just...I-” But it was too late and the damage was done. Dan had been quiet for too long, but Phil had gotten the message loud and clear. Phil excused himself again, and was hardly out of the room before he began to cry. The sound made Dan want to burst into tears, too. The one thing he had tried beyond trying to avoid, and it seemed to be all he had accomplished. How was he going to make this better? 

Phil’s finger was burnt, and his heart felt charred and black, and in the pan, the butter was burning.


	11. Lemonade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! I'm so happy to finally be updating again! I'm so sorry this chapter took forever to get up, I couldn't think of an ending that I liked for it, and nothing I tried felt right! Anyways, thank you guys so much for sticking with me and reading my story and giving me such wonderful feedback! I hope you enjoy the chapter, and based on what I have written for Chapter 12, you guys are really going to like it! Comments and any other sort of feedback is, as always, anticipated and welcomed and encouraged! I love you guys!

Dan didn’t know what to do.

It seemed crass somehow to pursue Phil at this very moment, although Dan wanted nothing more than to take Phil into his arms and tell him he was sorry. And, oh, was he sorry. 

How could he explain to Phil that he _hadn’t_ meant to hurt his feelings? Hadn’t meant to reject him so cruelly? Hadn’t meant to reject him at all? Since the day they’d met, Phil had been his most exasperating daydream, an unreachable sort of felicity that kept him awake and aching with want. 

And it wasn’t even the sort of desire that usually drove people wild; it was an intense longing that burned like whisky in his chest, the want to be cherished and handled gently, the need for kissed knuckles and a waist held tight and lovingly and unconditionally. God, he wanted it. He wanted to provide it, too, more than anything. And there wasn’t anybody in the whole world who deserved a loving hand more than Phil did. 

Now Dan was sure he'd gone and wrecked the whole thing. 

Eventually, Dan came to his senses enough to grab the smoking, burnt pan off of the stove. He fumbled and dropped it into the sink, then turned on the tap. He listened to the sizzle and pop of the cold water as it evaporated from the red-hot surface, wondering, for a moment, what it would be like to exist so briefly that there were no time to fuck things up. He busied himself with scrubbing out the bottom of the pan, and so intent was he upon this scrubbing (in order to prevent the emotional breakdown that was looming directly before him) he didn’t even realize that he was nauseous until he found himself vomiting into the sink. 

Whether it was a hangover that had simply gone unnoticed (probably due to the rose-colored glasses that had been filtering his senses subsequent to waking up encased in the arms of the man he'd been pining over for months) or the consequences of the complete annihilation of his emotions and his spirit, Dan was unsure, but by the time his body was finished rejecting every ounce of fluid that was currently inside of it, there were tears streaming down his cheeks, both from the force of the vomit and the overwhelming tidal wave of regret and despair that washed over him. The sound of a phone vibrating caught his attention, and after rinsing his mouth out, Dan looked around; still propped up against the toaster was Phil’s cell phone, and the screen was lit up with a handful of unread text messages. Dan grabbed the phone, casting a guilty glance over his shoulder towards the hallway. He knew for a fact that it was nothing short of the worst invasion of privacy to go through someone else’s phone. In fact, Dan was sure that if he ever discovered a friend rifling through his phone, he would renounce them immediately for lack of respect. Dan had no intention of reading Phil’s text messages or going through his photos, though. He just needed to make a call. 

With the phone gripped tightly between his hands, Dan made his way into the lounge, hoping beyond all hope that Phil wouldn't come looking for it just yet. He swiped the texts away (they were from Phil’s brother, and they certainly weren't any of Dan’s business), and the agonizing guilt simmering in the pit of his stomach reared its ugly head anew. 

The lockscreen on the phone was the photo they'd taken together the previous morning. Now that he was looking at it in greater detail, the little telltale signs of genuine joy were overwhelming; he saw his own face, eyes squinted and crinkled at the corners, dimples divoting his cheeks which, lately, he thought he might just be growing into. He could just barely see the tip of Phil’s tongue poking out between his teeth, the way it did when he was truly happy, and his nose was crinkled just a little bit on the sides. It was incredible how handsome Phil was, the way he glowed, and Dan stared at the screen long after it had turned itself off again. The seedling of guilt was blossoming into a beautiful chute of despair. 

_Focus, Dan._ he urged himself, before clicking the phone back on and swiping his thumb across the lockscreen; it unlocked. 

Typical Phil, too trusting and willing. 

Without even the will to creep through Phil’s private things, Dan scrolled through his contacts until he ran across Louise’s name, with a little yellow flower-shaped emoji beside it. It occurred to him as he was putting the number into his own cell phone that it was odd he and Louise had not yet exchanged phone numbers, as they were relatively good friends. She hadn’t asked, but neither had he. 

With the number obtained, Dan took Phil’s phone, after turning it off, and placed it back where it had been left. Usually, it took Dan a couple of minutes to work up the courage to ring someone, but today he didn’t have it in him to be nervous. Louise answered on the third ring. 

“Hello?” 

“Lou?” 

“Dan, is that you? Is everything alright?” 

Dan was quiet, and Louise knew the answer right away. 

“I made a mistake.” 

Louise sighed inaudibly; something had told her that, although Dan and Phil had finally expressed their feelings in a physical manner, the emotional aspect of their not-quite relationship would be significantly more complicated to conquer. She had already discarded the idea of post-one night stand drama; in the previous months, Dan had exhibited a boundless abundance of emotional investments in Phil, and Phil had done the same regarding Dan. They simply weren’t the “loving and leaving” sort of people. So, she wondered, what could have happened? 

“Well, Dan...how about coffee?” 

Phil didn’t hear Dan’s brief conversation with Louise, didn’t hear the faint rustling of Dan moving about his bedroom, trying to find clothes to wear that would combat the snowy conditions outside, which seemed less magical and more inconvenient without the haze of puppy love. He didn’t hear the click of door when Dan left the flat either, but, without any explanation, he very suddenly felt as though he were alone. 

Poking his head up, Phil used the heel of his palm to scrub at his eyes; he’d stopped crying at least fifteen minutes ago, but the itch of the tear tracks as they dried on his skin still remained. Part of him felt silly for crying, especially since he had sort of set himself up for this. Afterall, when had Dan ever said he wanted to be Phil’s boyfriend? A hot, humiliated flush invaded Phil’s itching cheeks. He had assumed that Dan would want to be with him just as badly as he wanted to be with Dan, when that clearly wasn’t the case, and now he was embarrassed, heart-broken, and angry. 

He wasn’t entirely certain who the anger was aimed at. Phil was perfectly aware that it wasn't fair to be angry with Dan, but he couldn’t help but feel as though he had been somewhat lead on. Had he misinterpreted all of the signals from Dan? Surely not. When he made mention of it on the train, Dan hadn’t denied his attraction to him. Actually, Phil was positive that Dan had _confirmed_ it. So where had it all gone sour? 

Confused, with his heart sitting somewhere between his ankles, Phil made himself sit up on his bed, which was made perfectly, pillows straightened and sheets unrumpled. This perplexed Phil for a split second, as he had no memory of making it, until he remembered that he had slept with Dan the previous evening. 

Phil sat on the edge of his bed, remembering what it had been like; the room was chilly, but not completely dark. Dan wouldn’t sleep in a room that was completely dark, afterall. He was afraid of the dark. 

While Dan was taller than he (by hardly half an inch. They had used a tape measure and everything), Phil had figured he would be better at being a big spoon, and so when he had curled himself around Dan and Dan, with no objection, had snuggled against him, Phil had never felt a contentment so pure in his whole life. He’d felt Dan shiver when he pressed the tip of his cold nose into the back of Dan’s warm neck, but it only have him an excuse to hold him closer. Often enough throughout his life, Phil had woken up to find his blankets in a twisted heap on the floor, his pillows tossed to and fro. He was a fitful sleeper at best, but with Dan beside him, he had slept like a baby, 

Sighing, Phil dragged himself off of the bed and stood, peering into the black-edged mirror that hung above his wardrobe. His hair, which normally sat across his forehead, was pushed back away from his face. He’d never liked it this way. It made his eyes look too wide for his face and highlighted his forehead, which he thought was too big. Using his fingers, he combed it down. There wasn’t much to be done about his pink-tinted eyes, other than, perhaps, putting his contact lenses in, but he concluded that such an act would require much more effort than he was willing to exert, and so he settled for putting his glasses on. 

He decided that he needed to find Dan and apologize. Apologize for making assumptions, for reacting so poorly to being rejected. After all, someone not loving you in return isn't such a crime. 

“Dan?” Phil said, wishing his voice had come out a little bit more sure-sounding as he knocked gently on the door to Dan’s bedroom, which was slightly ajar. 

No reply. 

He tried again, after clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders. “Dan?” After waiting several moments for an answer, Phil pushed the door open and peeked inside. To his surprise, the room was empty. 

Wheeling around, Phil made his way down the hallway and, after looking in the lounge and the kitchen, concluded that Dan was, in fact, gone. It struck Phil as very odd that Dan had gone out without telling him, although they had been on poor terms and, despite Phil’s readiness to apologize, Dan probably thought they still were. Phil picked at the side of his left pointer finger, contemplating; he could call Dan, couldn't he? Surely he wouldn't ignore Phil’s call, right? Was he angry with him, and that's why he left in the first place? Now, Phil was worried and confused. He wished this had never happened; things were going to beautifully. Why did he have to go and ruin it the way he did? 

Eventually, Phil decided that the best course of action was to call Dan and find out where he'd gone, and retrieved his cell phone from where he had abandoned it in the kitchen. When he turned it on, his heart froze in his chest like a block of ice. 

A banner on the screen alerted him to a missed call, but it was the name on the banner that made his blood run cold. 

Julian Maynard. 

It had never occurred to Phil to block the number; for some reason, Julian hadn't attempted to contact him since he'd left. The photos of them were all decimated from the phone via Louise, but the number remained. If his mind was racing before, it was positively spinning out of control now. Why had Julian called him, and why after so many months of absolutely no contact whatsoever? What did he want? Why now? More than ever before, he wished Dan hadn't left. If Dan were here, he'd know what to do, or at least he would coach Phil through it. 

_Probably a drunk dial_. Phil thought bitterly, although he found himself heavily tempted by his own curiosity. What was the timing of all of this? He and Dan were rarely ever too far apart, and how, when Dan was gone without any hint as to where he'd gone or how long he'd be away, would fate have it that Julian would ring him up? His thumb hovered hesitantly over the screen of his phone, and, before he could stop the impulse, he swiped the banner and his phone lit up as the call went through. 

Phil’s heart began to pump so furiously that it made him feel faint. 

The phone rang once, twice, three times. Then, halfway through the fourth ring, it was picked up. 

“Phil...I can't believe you called back,” Julian’s voice sounded crystal clear, if slightly astounded. No alcoholic slur detectable. For a moment, Phil didn't know what to say. 

“I-uh. Hello, Julian,” he finally decided, still suspicious. “Why did you call me?” 

There was no pause, as if Julian knew precisely what Phil would ask him and he was certain of how he would answer. “I want to see you.” 

Of all the things Phil thought Julian might say, this certainly was not one he was expecting. 

“Julian-” 

“Now, wait a minute, before you say no, please listen to me. I know that I messed up. Badly. Ive changed. For the better, I swear to you, Phil. And I miss you. I miss you so much.” There was a genuine eagerness in Julian’s voice that Phil wasn't prepared for; it tapped into the microscopic corner of his heart that still felt anything for the guy besides hatred and regret. Apparently, he had been quiet for too long, because Julian spoke again. 

“Just come to the flat. You don't have to stay...I just need to see you. Please.” 

Phil was wildly conflicted; Dan and Louise would be beside themselves if they knew that even an inkling of him was considering it after all the trauma he'd caused. Still, though, Dan had rejected him, so why should he care anyways? Besides, it would only be one short visit, and who could it hurt? 

“I’ll be around in an hour.” 

It felt strange to traverse the stairs up to the flat he thought he'd never see again. 

Phil felt like a stranger, though he'd lived in that very same building for almost two whole years. His palms were sweating, but he couldn't quite place what was causing his anxiety; was he nervous about seeing Julian again? Or were the butterflies in his stomach indicative of the guilt he felt regarding Dan? He reminded himself that what he was doing wasn't wrong in the least. It wasn’t cheating, after all; he and Dan weren't dating, and he was allowed to do whatever he pleased. All the same, however, he felt unsettled. 

Using the very tips of his fingers, Phil tapped on the familiar green-painted door, because although he still owned a key to the flat, it seemed rude to use it under these circumstances. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, Phil tried to ignore the nagging in the back of his mind. 

_I’m not doing anything wrong._ He thought firmly, folding his arms resolutely across his chest. 

After a few moments, the door opened, and silhouetted by the light from the interior of the apartment, which was luminous in comparison to the dim light of the hallway, stood Julian. Gone were the straggling, limp locks of hair that Phil had seen him with last, replaced by a clean, close-cropped and well-kept crew cut. He stood with his shoulders back, and Phil could see that not only had he lost weight, he'd been deliberately packing muscle. He shot Phil a familiar smile. 

“Come on in,” he said, taking a step back to grant Phil entrance. As Phil removed his shoes, he noted that hardly anything had changed, except perhaps that things were even cleaner than they had been before. Even the photos of the two of them together remained in their frames on the bookshelf, and the broken glass had been replaced in one. 

“The place looks good,” Phil said as politely as he could, although his tone was tight. 

“You always had good taste,” Julian shrugged, before gesturing towards the sofa with a nod of his head. As Phil situated himself awkwardly on the edge of the couch, Julian excused himself for a moment and returned with two glasses. He sat down beside Phil, almost too close for Phil’s liking, and offered one of the glasses to Phil. 

“Lemonade?” He said, and Phil was too polite to refuse, so he took the cup between his hands and glanced dubiously at its contents. 

“Thank you.” 

An awkward silence followed this exchange as Phil took a hesitant sip; it was too sour. Julian never was good at making lemonade, and it seemed as though some things would never change. 

“I'm glad to see you,” Said Julian, as he leaned forward to place his cup on the table, turning slightly towards Phil. “Thank you for coming. You can't imagine how hard it's been without you. Six years is quite some time, but...the past six _months_ have felt endless.” 

A sense of dread began to creep into Phil’s fingers and toes; did Julian think that Phil had come to reconcile? Because that simply wasn't the case at all. If anything, Phil had turned up to supply closure for both he and Julian. When he told Julian this, would he react violently? Phil wasn't sure he was prepared to handle that. 

“Oh-I...You're welcome. Thank you for inviting me over...Listen, Jules, I-” 

Before he could truly decide what he wanted to say, Phil was cut off by Julian, who, without any sort of forewarning, grabbed the sides of Phil’s face and kissed him. A muffled protest bubbled from Phil’s mouth and his eyes remained wide open. Julian’s lips were soft, but they were cold and clammy somehow; it was nothing like the kiss he'd shared with Dan. There was no liquid starlight in his veins, no embers glowing inside of his heart. There was no conduction between them. It was lifeless, at least to Phil. 

When Phil began to get the distinct impression that he were kissing a dead shark, he put his hands firmly against Julian’s chest and pushed him away. 

“Julian-” 

“Phil, it feels so good to be close. I thought I'd never see you again,” Julian said, his hands coming up to take Phil’s wrists. Although the grip wasn't tight or otherwise rough, Phil flinched instinctively. His thumb rubbed the pulse point on Phil’s right wrist, a place that he to be very sensitive. Before Phil could stop it, Julian brought his wrist to his mouth and started kissing the point softly. However involuntary, Phil’s eyes began to flutter and a shiver ran up his spine. A small noise came from the back of his throat, and Julian misinterpreted all of these as encouragements to continue. 

“Stop.” Phil said, his tone weak. 

“You don't want me to stop. You've missed me.” Julian said, his breath too warm against Phil’s skin. He kissed from the spot on Phil’s wrist to the crook of his elbow, and Phil hated the sensation of his whiskers tickling the tender skin of the underside of his arm. He always had. 

“Stop.” Phil repeated, tugging his arm away and folding them both across his chest, his mind frantically trying to come up with an excuse to leave. 

_This was a mistake._

“Come on, Baby,” Julian crooned, his thigh pressed right up against Phil’s as he brought an arm around his shoulders, effectively limiting Phil’s ability to move. He cupped the side of Phil’s neck and brought him in close, his mouth coming into contact with the space behind Phil’s ear and causing Phil’s knee to jerk a little bit as a result. “You don't want to be alone either, do you?” Julian whispered into Phil’s ear. “Haven't you missed me, too?” 

Phil was breathing heavier now, his cheeks flustering red as the man who was once his abuser trailed wet kisses down the side of his neck, seeking to replace the bruises that had once blossomed there with lovebites. He whimpered, his heart hammering against his ribcage, irritated beyond measure with his body for reacting the way it was when his mind was actively seeking a way out. 

“You're so soft. Like a rose. You love roses, don’t you Philly-Lilly?” Phil cringed visibly at the use of Julian’s old pet name and his unbelievable stupidity; Phil didn't love roses, he loved lilies, which should have been obvious enough based on the ridiculous nickname. 

“No-” 

Phil, agitated and unbelievably uncomfortable, both with himself and with Julian, reacted without thinking as Julian’s palm began to rub along his inner thigh and over his crotch; he seized the glass on the table and, with little to no regard as to what might happen as a result, threw its contents directly into Julian’s face. 

Julian gave an indignant sort of squawk, releasing Phil in shock and raising to his feet, hands pressed to his burning eyes. 

“What the _fuck?!”_

He had been right about one thing, although he hadn't been applying his notion in the correct places; some things never do change, and Julian still didn't care about him one smidgeon. 

“You're disgusting,” Phil spat, suddenly much braver, partially due to the fact that Julian was momentarily blinded. He crossed to the door in just a few long strides and yanked his shoes onto his feet, hardly bothering to do up the laces. “Don’t you ever try to call me again. In case the message wasn't clear enough six months ago, here's a small reminder: We’re done.” 

With one final sweeping look around the room, Phil squared his shoulders, flung the door open, and walked out. As an afterthought, he spun on his heel and took his keyring from his back pocket, detaching the key to Julian’s apartment and opening the door again. Julian stood in the position, rubbing his eyes and blinking rapidly, face beet red. 

“Oh,” He said, before he lobbed the key with as much force as he could at Julian, and although he was sure it didn’t hurt much, it was satisfying to watch it bounce off of Julian’s head and clatter to the floor. “And fuck you.” 

As he left, the door slammed resolutely in his wake.


	12. Supernova

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12! I know this one is shorter than what we're used to, and also that there isn't as much content, but I really wanted this chapter to stand on its own. I promise that Chapter 13 will have much more substance to it, and I really hope you enjoy this chapter! It was a lot of fun to write! As always, feedback and critiques and anything else you might have to say is always wanted and welcomed! I love you guys! <3

It wasn't until he was sitting on the tube, his hair plastered to his head, as since he’d gone into Julian’s building, it had stopped snowing and started to rain, that Phil was finally calm enough to think rationally.

His emotions were a jumble of white-hot anger, pride in himself, and a hint of disgust. He was both astounded and furious that Julian had the nerve to reach out to Phil as a lover. Was he sorry in the least? Obviously not. He had proven, simply by ignoring Phil’s rejections, that he still considered Phil to be little more than an object, a possession. However, Phil did experience a twisted sort of pleasure when he recalled the image of Julian doubled over, face in his hands, crying out in pain. What had he been thinking, anyways? What in Heaven’s name might he have gained by doubling back and giving Julian a chance? Why had he ignored the way his instincts had protested? He felt stupider than he ever had in whole life. 

A thought crossed Phil’s mind, one that made him want to crawl out of his own skin. Had he only gone to make Dan...jealous? Had he really stooped so low? The thought alone humiliated him. A upheaval of regret flooded his being, and Phil suddenly felt the need to apologize to Dan for going and nearly undoing all of the progress he'd helped Phil make. 

As he extracted his phone from his pocket (with the intention of ringing Dan immediately) and saw the three missed calls, two from Louise and one from Dan, he realized he hadn't given anyone any indication of where he’d gone off to. Phil attempted to ignore the shiver of terror that crept up his spine as the thought crossed his mind; if Julian had been able to overcome him, there would have been nobody who knew where to find him. 

With his thumb hovering over the touch screen, he juggled his options back and forth, back and forth. If he called Dan, that meant he had to either deal with the heavy, draping awkwardness that was bound to hang between them, or address the issue head-on, which is what he wanted to do, but he was certainly not prepared to do it 

Obviously, he should avoid calling Dan altogether for now, but the thing that suspended his certainty was the sheer sense of _longing._ The want to hear Dan’s voice, to speak to him and tell him what had happened and feel safe when Dan took his hands and rubbed his fingers and told him that he was going to be okay. 

As though his hand were working freely of his mind, unbridled by the hesitation and self-doubt, completely ignoring his contemplation, it made that decision for him and his thumb swiped Louise’s name to the left and the screen lit up. 

It took several seconds for Phil to register this action, and by the time he was pressing the phone to his ear, Louise’s voice was already streaming from the speaker. 

“-have you been?! You can't just run off like that and not tell anybody where you're going! Anything could have happened to you, you realize! You could have gotten mugged or...or...well, we’ve been worried sick, Dan and me-” 

_So that’s where Dan had gone off to,_ Phil thought, a strange sense of relief alleviating the underlying anxiety he had forgotten to feel. Bizarrely enough, Phil recognized the sensation not as concern, but as _jealousy_. His first instinct, above and beyond all rationality, was to believe that Dan had left to meet somebody, another boy, maybe. In his attempt to avoid behaving like a possessive boyfriend, Phil had immediately stifled this notion, or so he had thought. But no, it had remained, quiet and recessive in the nooks of his mind, waiting to be validated by evidence. 

Louise continued her ranting and raving, and Phil, at 26 years old, felt like a teenager being reprimanded by his angry mother, and when silence finally fell at the other end of the line, Phil blurted out the first thing that came to mind. 

“Will you tell Dan that I’m sorry?” 

His voice broke, a crack in his shell, a sign of weakness, a split in the dam. Phil’s eyes began to fill almost immediately and he demeaned himself internally for being unable to control his emotions. 

Louise, apparently, detected this bow in Phil’s resolve, and her tone softened considerably. 

“...When are you going to be home?” 

“Soon.” 

He heard Louise take a deep breath, or, perhaps, release a sigh, “I’ll tell him.” 

Dan sat at the piano, his fingers twinging with the need to do _something_ with nothing at all to do but wait. 

Ever since he’d stumbled into the flat only to find it empty, his mind had been buzzing like a hive of bees. It wasn’t like Phil to disappear without a trace. There had been several Saturdays when Dan had awoken at a leisurely 9am to discover Phil’s absence and a note on the refrigerator explaining that he’d gone to retrieve bagels for breakfast or a rented movie for them to enjoy together. 

Now that he was gone, Dan was forced to swallow his panic and try to behave like a functioning, rational human being. It had taken an overwhelming amount of self control to only call Phil one time, and when he received no answer, he had to remind himself that Phil was an adult, more than capable of taking care of himself. 

_But last time I thought that…_

Dan shook his head, but then he sighed. He just wanted Phil to come home so he could make things right. He stared down at the flower he was twirling between his thumb and forefinger, wondering if its petals were already beginning to wilt. 

The climb up the steps to the flat seemed monumentally strenuous, even more so than usual, but Phil couldn’t decide if it was because he longed to see Dan or because he wanted nothing more than to avoid him. He didn’t want to break down anymore, didn’t want to tell Dan what had happened, didn’t want to revert back to a frightened little boy, and yet Dan was the only person he wanted to talk to. Puffing, Phil reached the summit and gazed down the darkened corridor, his heart, racing from the climb, settling in his throat. 

_It’s just Dan_ , he reminded himself, feeling silly for being afraid of the best friend he’d ever had. 

Oh, but if only it were that simple. _If only_ Dan were just his best friend, _if only_ he hadn’t caught feelings for Dan. 

_If only_ he wasn’t in love with Dan. 

Slowly, Phil made his way down the hallway, trying to shut his brain off in the meantime. By the time he reached their front door, which was adorned with a beautiful silver wreath he’d been very adamant about putting up, there were so many thoughts rolling over and over in his mind that he couldn’t comprehend any of them, anyways. 

With fingers numbed by the cold and by anticipation, he put his key in the lock and turned the knob. 

Now, Phil hadn’t really been sure what he expected to find when he pushed open the door. Maybe he’d thought Dan would be waiting there with open arms and an open heart, or possibly that he’d find all of his things stacked against the wall and in heaps on the carpet, that Dan had decided to kick him out. 

What he found, however, was a single purple hyacinth laying on the carpet. 

He certainly wasn’t expecting that. Phil stared for a moment, before he leaned down and, rather cautiously, took the flower between his thumb and forefinger. He gave it a twirl, before nestling his nose against it briefly. Intrigued, he looked up to call out Dan’s name, when his words caught in his throat; a handful of steps before him, like a pool of light, sat a yellow tulip. Phil’s eyes travelled further down the hallway and he discovered a trail of flowers leading from where he stood and out of sight. 

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, Phil made his way down the hall, collecting the flowers as he went; a red camellia, a white gloxinia, a stem of lily of the valley, a big yellow daffodil. Following the trail, Phil reached Dan’s door, which was closed, and looked down at the bouquet that he had collected, thoroughly mystified. 

He tapped hesitantly against the wood of the door, before gently pushing it open and peeking inside. 

“Dan…?” 

Dan, who was sat at the piano, gave a little start before scrambling to his feet. 

“Phil…” he breathed, sounding both relieved and frightened all at once, similarly to the way Phil was feeling himself. 

It was obvious that Dan was tempted to ask where Phil had been, but something stayed his words. Phil was right, of course, and the reason Dan abstained from questioning him was the fear of sounding as if he were interrogating him, as though Phil owed him an explanation, which he truly didn’t. In order to avoid relapsing into an awkward silence, Phil held up the bunch of blossoms he had clutched between his hands, tipping his head to one side. 

“What are these for?” he asked, the corner of his mouth quirking into a helpless smile; nobody ever gave him flowers, and he assumed it was due to the fact that he worked with them. They thought he would be sick of them, but really, nothing tickled his fancy the way flowers could. 

“Purple Hyacinth,” Dan replied, his voice taking on the quality of a timid individual preparing to give a lengthy and poorly-memorized speech. “‘Please forgive me’.” 

Phil’s gaze travelled again to the bouquet, surprised that Dan knew what the flower represented. Phil had spent plenty of time spurring facts about different flowers and their unique meanings to Dan. It had always fascinated him, but he was certain he’d never shared that particular piece of information. “Well, yes-” 

“Gloxinia,” Dan continued, his voice edged with nerves. “‘Love at first sight’.” 

Phil picked out the Gloxinia with his eyes, feeling his body glow with the heat of sudden embarrassment and a fluctuation of realization. 

“Red Camellia, ‘you’re the flame in my heart’.” 

Now, Phil could feel his heart racing, his eyes stinging, threatening to overwhelm him with tears. 

“Lily of the Valley…” Dan trailed off for a moment. “‘You’ve made my life complete’.” 

With his lower lip beginning to wobble, Phil avoided Dan’s eyes by keeping his own trained downwards. 

“Daffodil, ‘the sun is always shining when I’m with you’.” Continued Dan, pressing on despite the way his own emotion was culminating as a lump in his throat. 

“Yellow tulip,” Dan reached out gently and tipped Phil’s chin up with his hand. “‘There is sunshine in your smile’.” 

It was all but impossible to resist the grin that tugged on Phil’s mouth, just as it was impossible to suppress the tears that began to trickle down his cheeks and nose, a rainstorm. 

“Red rose,” Dan said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he, seemingly from nowhere, but really from behind his back, presented Phil with a tall, thornless rose. Phil accepted it clumsily, unable to tear his eyes away from the way Dan’s were flickering or the slight tremble in his upper lip. “I love you.” 

And in this moment, this uncomprehended and beautiful snippet of time that the universe would ignore, that would go unnoticed by all but the two that were present, Phil Lester did something that he had never before done in all of his 28 years of fruitless existence, something that went against his nature to its very core; he took the flowers that were in his hands and, without a second thought or a moment of hesitation, tossed them to the ground. 

_Some things never change_ , was the only thought Dan was able to comprehend before his mind dissipated into little more than flecks of light. 

It was something of an event, a supernova. The pressure from the outside to rectify the situation, to make amends, to solidify a bond, combined with the internal struggle of choosing between friendship and love, of coming to terms with feelings that could be, and had been, rather frightening, became altogether too much to bear, resulting in the explosion of emotion and passion displayed by Phil as he flung his arms shamelessly around Dan’s neck and kissed him hard and pointedly. 

Dan gripped Phil’s shirt near the small of his back and grappled with the hair at the nape of his neck, unable to do much other than reciprocate. It was somehow different than the brandy-soaked kisses they'd shared beneath the mistletoe, more sure and solid. It was wetter, too, because Phil was crying and the crystalline tears slipped down his face and clung to his eyelashes like drops of dew on a spider’s web. 

They kissed until they were breathless, and even then, Dan had to pull away first, sure that Phil had no intention of letting go yet. Phil, gasping for air and crying and laughing all at once, responded to this by burying his head in Dan’s shoulder. 

Through a series of sobs and bubbles of watery laughter, Phil managed to look Dan in the eyes, his gaze surprisingly steady, and say “I love you, too."


	13. Blanket Fort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi you guys! I'm so excited to update, you've no idea! School continues to make my life a living hell, so I apologize for the wait (nearly a whole month, jeez Jade), but without further ado, here's Chapter 13! Comments and criticisms and anything else in between is always welcomed and encouraged, gaining your feedback is what gives me the motivation to write! Thank you so much!

“So, where did you go off to?” 

Phil looked up from the mug of hot chocolate he was using to warm his hands, his eyes reflecting guilt. 

After he'd stopped crying and they'd stopped kissing, Dan had made the most beautiful suggestion Phil had ever heard. As he leaned down to gather up the flowers Phil had discarded in the throes of his passion, Dan said “...How about a blanket fort, Phil? We should talk.” 

_Oh yeah,_ Phil thought, remembering, now that he was able to think clearly, that they certainly _did_ have lots to talk about. 

As Dan gathered up all of the blankets and pillows in the flat, Phil offered to make drinks, seeking usefulness as he had never in his life built a blanket fort. Dan shook his head in mock disappointment and Phil gave him a playful shove, took the flowers from him, and went into the kitchen. As he put the flowers into one of the many vases they had accumulated over their few shorts months as roommates and began to measure out milk, Phil’s mind, which had been momentarily sedated by Dan’s mouth against his own, began to pick up speed again. 

_I have to tell him the truth_ , Phil thought firmly, his face burning with embarrassment at the mere idea of having to recount the events of his encounter with Julian. 

_He’s going to be so upset_...Phil dug his teeth into his lower lip, urging his heart rate to return back to normal. 

Admittedly, Phil was afraid. He was afraid that, once he told Dan the truth, Dan would get angry and they’d be back to square one all over again. 

They were so close now, so close to coming together in a beautiful sort of finality, the sort of thing he craved above all else. He wasn’t prepared to let it go. 

_But...he did say that he loved me,_ this thought sent another flood of heat into Phil’s neck and cheeks, but the warmth spread to his toes and the tips of his fingers, too. His hands, which had previously been preoccupied with mixing the cocoa powder, paused so that he could bury his face in them and suppress the love-dazed giggles that bubbled from his tummy. 

“You’re so cute,” said Dan’s voice as his arms wrapped around Phil from behind to give him a tight hug. Phil leaped nearly a mile off the ground in surprise, drawing a chuckle out of Dan. 

Heart still thumping, Phil took one of the mugs and shoved it into Dan’s hands, sticking his tongue out as he did. “I hate you.” 

“Do you now?” 

“I do,” Phil replied, taking the second mug and shuddering a little when the heat spread from his palms and up his arms. He was still a little damp from walking in the pouring rain, and, by extension, a little chilly. 

He followed Dan into the lounge, and although his eyes were trained on the cup clutched between his hands, Phil became acutely aware of the lighting around him, which was significantly different than usual. It was mostly dim, save the muted, buttery lighting that glowed beneath the veil of the blankets that Dan had draped over the back of the sofa and several chairs. 

“Wow!” Phil murmured, enchanted by the little fleecy teepee in the middle of the darkened room. Dan took Phil’s cup while Phil crawled beneath the blanket. The fort was just tall enough that Phil could sit upright with folded legs; it turned out that the faint luminosity was coming from the string of fairy lights (the ones from Dan’s bedroom) that he had laid around the edge of the fort. 

Phil scooted enough so that Dan could duck in beside him after reaching under to pass over the hot chocolates. With the mug nestled back in his hands, Phil gazed into it, content. 

“So, where did you go off to?” 

Despite the heat from the cup, Phil’s extremities went cold. 

He avoided Dan’s gaze for as long as he could manage, but the sensation of Dan’s eyes trained on him was magnetic and eventually, mostly against his inherent will, he found himself looking directly into the sienna eyes, burning like firewood against the shining fairy lights. 

Unfortunately for Phil, while he was better at hiding his emotions than Dan was, guilt turned him into cellophane. Dan could see it in Phil’s face, see that there was something Phil didn't want to talk about. He could see it in the way his eyebrows drew together a little, the way his mouth became a tight line. 

“Promise me that you won't be angry,” spoke Phil’s soft, nervous voice, more of a plea than a request. 

Alarm bells went off inside of Dan’s brain, but his exterior remained relaxed. His voice was gentle when he spoke, “Why would I be angry?” 

Even as Dan reached out and settled his hand on Phil’s ankle, still it seemed that Phil was afraid of some sort of backlash. However, after opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, Phil placed his mug on the floor, squared his shoulders and spoke. 

“Julian...he called…” 

Before he could stop himself, Dan gave a small, shocked sound; of all the things he had considered, of all the places he'd imagine Phil might have gone, not once had he imagined that Julian had been involved. 

Although it was only a little noise, Phil, ever overly-attentive, caught it at once. His face flooded with color and his demeanor went from fidgety to nervous. All of what Phil wanted to say blurred together in his mind. 

Or maybe it was the tears in his eyes blurring his vision. 

“I...I-I didn't...Think it through...I was impulsive. And...and upset…” 

Phil’s voice, already small and trembling, broke. Dan’s heart followed suit; he _had_ hurt Phil, then. 

“-got there, he was polite…charming, even...G-good ol’ Julian…” 

So tangled in his flurry of guilt was he that Dan had momentarily tuned Phil out. Now, however, Dan was all ears; at the second mention of Julian’s name, the web spun around him by a black widow of guilt was suddenly set ablaze with hatred renewed, as fresh as though it were all those months earlier. 

Now, the circumstances were different, though. The reason Phil was here now, looking far too small for someone upwards of six feet and two inches, was because of him. 

Before Dan could say anything, though, Phil’s entire demeanor changed. All at once, he sat up much straighter (so much so, in fact, that the top of his head brushed the underside of the blanket that served as their tent), and the soft glow from the string of lights reflected like embers in his eyes. Without a tremor, he spoke. “And he told me that he missed me. That he knew I missed him, too. He kissed me,” here, Phil’s eyes flickered towards Dan, who could practically feel himself radiating jealousy. Although he wondered why in the world Phil would ever want to get near such a snake in the grass again, he couldn't find it within himself to be angry; he had just rejected Phil, albeit accidentally, and who was he to get angry at him for making a rash decision? Still, the notion of Phil, his Phil, enraptured in the throes of love with anybody who wasn't him sent venom into his veins. 

With a valiant attempt to sound nonchalant, Dan said “And?” 

“And it was like making out with a dead fish.” By this jab at Julian, a drain plug was pulled somewhere within Dan and the poisonous envy flushed away, leaving him with only a wave of relief. 

“What did you do when he kissed you, then?” Dan asked, intrigued now that he knew this wasn't Phil’s way of telling him that he was going back to Julian. 

“I told him to quit,” Phil replied, his nose wrinkling just enough to give him the air of a disgusted rabbit. “And when he tried to keep going, I tossed lemonade in his face.” 

There was a proud sort of gleam in Phil’s eyes and a little smirk on his mouth, and Dan, who had let out a shout of surprised, pleased laughter, seized Phil around the waist and yanked him into his arms. 

With a yelp, Phil wrapped his arms around Dan’s neck as a reflex, but he flushed in delight when Dan nestled their noses together and whispered “You’re brilliant, Phil Lester, simply brilliant.” 

Phil, with such ease that it were almost as if it were second nature, connected their mouths, his fingers moving to tangle into Dan’s soft, clean hair. Dan’s own hands traced along Phil’s sides tentatively before slipping up inside his shirt to feel the warm, smooth skin over the delicate curve of his lower spine. He felt Phil shiver under his touch and he smiled into the kiss. Phil’s fists tightened in his hair and a shock of delight ran from his scalp and into every nerve ending in his body, drawing a little whimper of pleasure from somewhere within his body. 

Phil pulled back, his eyes shining with amusement. “Did I just make you...moan, Dan Howell?” 

Still trying to catch the breath that had been kissed out of him, Dan felt a hot flush of embarrassment flood his neck, ears, and face. 

“No!” he tried, attempting to sound indignant. 

“Oh, but I think I did!” Phil sing-songed, clearly very pleased with himself, as he walked his fingers up Dan’s cheek and gently nudged his nose. 

He took Dan’s face between his hands and kissed his cheek, before trailing his mouth along the gentle slope of Dan’s jaw and ghosted over the shell of his ear. 

Beneath him, Dan was trying his very best to hold still. It had been a _long_ time since he'd been touched so delicately, and he'd nearly forgotten how sensitive he was. His lips parted and his breath hitched and his hands gripped the hem of Phil’s shirt to keep him anchored to something real. 

When Dan tipped his head to the side, Phil laughed and dipped down to latch onto the previously uncharted area, drawing from Dan a beautiful keen that reminded him of the strains of a violin. 

“You’re my favorite musician,” Phil hummed softly, his lips hardly a centimeter from Dan’s collar, before he resumed his exploration of Dan’s sensitivity. 

To Dan, everything was coalescing into a beautiful painting of light, sound, and sensation. His eyes had long since fluttered closed, but the fairy lights shone through his eyelids just enough to give him the impression that this whole affair glowed a pleasant, buttercup yellow. 

It took him a full fifteen seconds to realize Phil had ceased planting flowery kisses all over his body, which felt like a garden. He peeked one eye open to find Phil, still straddling his lap, now toying nonchalantly with the hem of t-shirt and casting Dan a coy, questioning smile. 

Dan, enraptured by him, felt the little shreds of doubt he often harbored reaching out from the depths of his more rainy subconscious. 

But when he gazed up at Phil, who gazed back in his special sort of way, Dan was reminded of the time that they had sat together, hardly 24 hours after knowing one another, on the wobbly piano bench in his bedroom. Phil had looked at him in just the same way then, as though he were beautiful. 

Without a second thought, Dan gave an almost imperceptible nod of consent. 

With a thrill whirling inside his chest, Phil carefully helped Dan out of the soft cotton shirt, his face coloring up a little as he cast the clothing aside. His eyes roamed unabashedly along Dan’s now-naked torso and his heartbeat spiked; his hips and waist were all soft curves and pale, beauty-marked skin. 

Immersed, Phil placed his palms, still warm and rosy from the hot mug he had held, against Dan’s hips, grinning when he felt Dan press up against him. 

Phil looked up at Dan, and, to his surprise, he found that Dan had covered his face with his hands. Fondly, Phil curled his hands into claw shapes and tickled him playfully, drawing the reaction from Dan that he’d wanted. 

Dan made a bubbling sound of protest, his hands darting to grab Phil’s wrists and, thereby uncovering his face. 

Phil laced their fingers together and kissed Dan’s knuckles. “You’re quite lovely, Mr. Howell,” Dan rolled his eyes and pulled his hands away, reaching up to undo the button at the collar of Phil’s shirt. He went slowly, watching as more and more of Phil’s fair skin became visible. When he unhooked the last button, Phil shrugged the shirt off and added it to the growing pile of clothing to their right. 

“You have stars on you,” Dan said matter of factly, reaching out to connect the handful of freckles on Phil’s chest. “A constellation.” 

Shaking his head, Phil wrapped his arms around Dan’s neck and tugged him sideways to the floor. They lay on their sides, facing one another, floating somewhere between infatuation and disbelief, before Dan inched himself closer and and kissed Phil’s nose, then his mouth, then his chest. 

The skin there was soft and pleasantly tepid, and before Dan knew it, he was pinning Phil against the ground by his shoulders and using his mouth and tongue to color the pale skin a rainbow of red, blue, and purple. 

Somewhere within his nebulous brain, Dan managed to think _The only sort of bruising that should ever be left on a lover._

Phil cupped the back of Dan’s head with both hands, his back arched off of the ground, his head tossed to one side. The further down his body Dan went, the more difficult it became to keep his whimpers and groans quiet, and when Dan began nibbling at the sharp protrusion of his hipbone, colors appeared behind Phil’s eyes. 

“D-Dan!” he gasped, and Dan pulled away just long enough to mock him. 

“Did I just make you moan, Phil Lester?” Before Phil could formulate a clever response, Dan began fiddling with the silvery button on his jeans. He looked down at Dan, who was grinning, and noticed that his lips were swollen and flushed, probably from the sucking and kissing, and the image of that mouth attached to a far more intimate area caused his jeans to tighten considerably. Phil nodded fervently, reaching his own hands down to help work the suddenly uncomfortable fabric from his legs. 

With a second layer of clothing out of the way, Dan became vividly aware that they were one pair of pants and two pairs of boxers away from being completely naked. Phil’s dick was also notably visible through his underwear, and Dan was unaware that he was gaping until Phil started to laugh. 

“Do you want me to touch it?” Dan blurted out without thinking, immediately regretting it when Phil’s laughter doubled. 

Embarrassed, Dan rubbed his palm over the bulge roughly in order to shut Phil up, and, predictably, it was incredibly effective. Phil’s hips lifted completely off the ground in order to grind into the pressure, a kink of pleasure forming in his belly. 

Completely infatuated, amazed that he could create such a vehement reaction with only his hands, Dan continued to massage Phil through the fabric until Phil was begging to be relieved. Desirous, with eroticism washing over them slow and sweet like honey, Dan decided that he was in no position to deny him. 

Ten minutes came and went like a shooting star, and when Phil reached his climax, Dan didn't pull off. He slowed his pace, though, so he could listen to Phil gasp and stammer, and a smug sense of pride elated him. He knew Phil was finished when he gave a whimper of discomfort and he pulled away, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth before giving Phil a onceover. 

Nude, vulnerable, flecked with hickeys and flushed, Phil had never looked so gorgeous before. After he caught his breath, Phil opened his eyes, a little bit dazed, and took a moment to focus before he managed to push himself up onto his elbows. 

It hadn't been perfect, of course, but intimacy wasn't meant to be flawless. Several times, Phil’s leg had jerked too violently and he'd accidentally kicked Dan. Twice Dan almost choked, and when he used his hands to keep Phil’s hips pinned to the floor, he'd tickled Phil by accident and caused him to jump violently, nearly toppling their blanket fort. It was clumsy, but it was symphonic in its beauty. 

Cheeks stained red, hair sticking up all over, and voice husky, Phil clambered to his hands and knees and crawled over Dan, forcing Dan against the carpet before pinning his hands above his head. 

“Your turn.” 

It would be some time before Dan could recall the details of what happened beyond that. He remembered watching Phil coax his boxers down his thighs, remembered resisting the natural urge to hide himself away. He remembered the way one corner of Phil’s mouth curled into a smirk before he began his assessment of Dan’s body, then the sensation of Phil’s mouth against his inner thighs, and then nothing but the angelic white that blossomed in his wavering, flickering vision. 

The air was heavy, thickened by their simultaneous panting and the smell of sex. Dan, completely exhausted, lay gazing at the quilted ceiling of the fort, one hand stroking Phil’s hair as Phil lay against his stomach with his arms wound tightly around his waist. 

Feeling like a firework, Dan stuttered "Y-you're...really good at...at that..." 

Phil giggled. 

After that, not a word had passed between them; neither of them felt the need to speak. When Dan finally lifted his head from the floor to peer down at Phil, he found that he had drifted off to sleep. Although they were damp with sweat and the fort was cramped, and although there were two mugs of cold hot chocolate waiting fruitlessly to be consumed, and although the world outside of their sanctuary was chilly and unpredictable, Dan found a dreamless sleep easier than ever before. 

And when he would awake several hours later, in the early hours of Christmas Eve, Phil would still be wound around him, unwavering.


End file.
